Steel Doors and Concrete Walls:Part 2
by BuffyAngel68
Summary: Parker is safely "in custody", Broots is in turmoil. Will either survive?
1. Default Chapter

Title: Steel Doors and Concrete Walls: Part 2- Chapter 1  
  
Author: BuffyAngel68  
  
e-mail:vg68@msn.com  
  
Rating: Mild PG for a touch of violence and unlawful imprisonment (even if it is in a good cause.  
  
Spoilers: None, as its original, except for the story that inspired it (Immortal Quest at the Pretender Adult Fan-Fic archive) Tyvm Dragonheart for writing such a great jumping off point.  
  
Summary: Wasn't all that happy with the author's sequel when I read it. My mind went off on another track entirely. Jarod discovers new information about Parker and gets tired of waiting......  
  
Feedback: Please, please, please do! First-timers need all the praise and criticism they can get their tired little fingers on.Usual stuff.... characters, except for Abbot Michael, Major Hilliard, and Terri Simonson, don't belong to me, not making money, will return them to their owners in the condition I found them. Well.... you'll see.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Alright. The truth this time. What did you really do to her?"  
  
"Cut the comedy, Methos. If this is making us nervous.... Hey, Jarod. Don't. I know what you're thinking and it isn't time yet. Give her space to work through this on her own terms."  
  
Jarod, just a step or two from the hallway that led to the cell, halted, hesitated, then turned and walked back into the kitchen, refusing to look at the monitor again.   
  
Fascinated, and more than a little concerned, the other two watched for a few more minutes as Parker moved slowly around the cell, dragging the quilt from the bed behind her, her free hand, the thumb extended, occasionally straying toward her mouth or running through her hair.  
  
"I need an answer, Mac. What did you do?"  
  
"I didn't cause this!"  
  
"She's done a twenty-six year age regression, man! You're the one who's been working with her. What did you do?"  
  
"I.... Damn. It must have...."  
  
"Mac...."  
  
"I took her through a series of regressions. You know the type of thing; focus on the inner child, answer questions about the image. I was using the monosyllable technique."  
  
"And?"  
  
"She actually had a breakthrough, of sorts. At first she took the observer perspective, but.... I pushed. She slipped into first person at the end. I.... I swear.... I don't know....."  
  
"Wait. Look."  
  
To his great relief, Macleod watched Parker shake her head several times, gaze at the quilt and throw it back onto the bed. Looking at Methos, he found the same emotion reflected back at him.  
  
"Transitory episode. Thank God."  
  
"Oh, I will. For the rest of my life. Gladly, loud and often." Macleod responded, sounding as if he sincerely meant it.  
  
"She probably doesn't even know anything changed. Go see if the food is ready, will you?"  
  
"While you're...."  
  
"Go. I'll take over here."  
  
"Wait a minute...."  
  
Methos whirled from the monitor to face his friend, his expression irate, leaning towards truly furious.  
  
"You knew she was fragile, Mac. You were fully aware that she was a handle with extreme care. You pushed her anyway. Go check on dinner."  
  
"She was ready."  
  
"Did that little performance say *ready* to you?" Methos growled back. "Don't push your luck any further, highlander. Get.... into.... the kitchen."  
  
"We're short on time. I did what had to be done."  
  
"And your rush to judgment could have left her with a four year old's psyche in an adult's body for the rest of her life! Get out of my sight!"  
  
Jarod's voice behind them swung both men to face the kitchen door.  
  
"Lunch is ready."  
  
"I'll go fix a tray." Macleod offered, vanishing into the kitchen as Jarod approached the monitor. Methos stole a quick glance at him, noting that the stone-face mask behind which the younger man still hid a great deal of his fear and anger had, once again, dropped into place.  
  
"Is she alright?"  
  
"Yeah. Fine. She shook it off fairly quickly. That's a real good sign."  
  
"I told you she's strong. it isn't his fault, you know. I keep telling him stories about how easily the Centre has found me in the past. I think it's made him too conscious of how little time we have to execute this.... rescue mission."  
  
"Mission improbable is more like it. I'm beginning to wonder if you weren't right before. Even the best surgeon can't sew up a wound if the tissue is too delicate to hold stitches. What happened tonight says she isn't as strong as you might like to believe."  
  
"There are very few things I delude myself about anymore, Methos."  
  
"I didn't mean that and you know it. As hard as she sells that "heart of steel and cement" act, anyone would buy it. It isn't the reality. She was betrayed as deeply as a child can be; just like you were. You play happy-go-lucky and super-vigilante, she plays Sherman tank. It's the same act, and it won't work for either of you much longer. You both need all your memories to be whole."  
  
"Both of us. You said that before, and you still haven't explained it."  
  
"I'm not sure how to. Helping you will be a world and a half away from helping her. What you went through is so different. I haven't got it all worked out yet. Trust me, though; I will. I can give you back what you've lost if you give me a chance."  
  
Jarod didn't answer. He stared into the space above the monitor,   
his camouflage expression showing no sign of slipping. "Can I ask you a totally unrelated question?"  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"How do you see your role in all this?"  
  
"Planner, I suppose. The one to welcome her home; give her comfort and a safe place until she feels like going back to her life."  
  
"But her life is capturing you."  
  
"I know."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Hello again."  
  
When Parker flinched and practically ran to the other side of the room, Methos merely grinned and held his ground and the tray until she decided to speak to him.  
  
"Put it down and get out."  
  
"I'd prefer to stay if you don't mind. I promise to respect your comfort zone."  
  
"There is none with you."  
  
"At the airport it seemed to be about five feet. The far side of the table should do." he speculated, placing the tray on the bed and moving away. "Go ahead. You have to eat." he encouraged, shoving the rolling chair toward the bed before taking his chosen seat. Enticed by the aroma of the food, but aware that if he affected her as the other had she would want nothing to do with it, Parker moved slowly to the bed, conscious of her body's reactions all the way. When the status quo remained that way, she placed the tray on the chair, dropped to the bed and cut and sampled a bite of the salmon on the plate.  
  
"Not disgusting. Let me guess. Major brains-coming-out-his-butt made it."  
  
"Yes. Jarod did cook it. You don't hate him. I'd wager the world on that. You don't seem to like him much, though. Funny, that. He said you two were great friends as kids."  
  
"He wasn't a fugitive from his job, it wasn't my job to get him back. He refuses to accept his commitments and it's made my life a living nightmare. I should admire him for it?"  
  
"His job. His commitments. I thought you knew the real story of how he ended up in the Centre."  
  
"When it's my ass on the line, I can't afford to know anything except what I'm supposed to know. Lately, my ass has been very much on the line."  
  
"You and Jarod were close once, though."  
  
Gazing up from her meal only briefly, Parker considered then responded.  
  
"Once."  
  
"Spend a lot of time at the Centre as a girl did you?"  
  
"My father was very important to me. So was what he did for a living. I wanted to be with him. I was there three, maybe four afternoons a week. After my mother.... after she passed away, I suppose I got too busy with school, friends, sports..."  
  
"I see. Field hockey?" Methos asked, chuckling.  
  
"Good guess."  
  
"Not really. You and the game share the same personality trait."  
  
"Which would be?"  
  
"The always pleasant "high energy, hair-trigger pistol, kill 'em all and sort 'em out later, piss me off and everybody bleeds" trait. Also, I couldn't quite see you as a cheerleader."  
  
Parker gave a low, dark snicker.  
  
"If it hadn't been a felony...."  
  
"You would have torn the skinny, perky little freaks of nature limb from limb? I felt the same way. Not about cheerleaders, mind. In certain ways I was all for them. The rugby team, now. They were a different story. Smug, ego-driven, testosterone-addicted Neanderthals with one working brain cell, and that on the verge of collapse. I could have quite happily wrapped them all in petrol-bombs, lit the fuse and watched them blow sky-high."  
  
Setting aside the plate and tray, Parker laid the sole of her shoe against the edge of the chair seat and sent it gliding back toward the table.  
  
"Reminds me of your predecessor. Tall, dark and unbearably arrogant."  
  
"My apologies. He was trying to help." Methos explained, standing. "That's what this is for, you know. Helping you, showing you options. Road not taken and all that."  
  
"Why?" Parker asked, moving away as Methos came around the table to collect the tray.  
  
"You've been on one path all your life, love; the one you were placed on. You never got to choose. You got blinders while the rest of us got hang-gliders. Think on Robert Frost before you hit the pillow tonight: 'I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I-...."  
  
"I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.'"  
  
"Good. Very nice recitation skills. Try that voice a little more often. I guarantee you more cooperation and a lot more smiles."  
  
Pulling a small package from his pocket, Methos tossed it on the bed. "Dessert. I can't get Jarod or my "predecessor" to give them up. See you tomorrow. Sleep well."  
  
"Wait. Adam, isn't it?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Mind if I use it?"  
  
"Go ahead. Just remember that names have great power. Some cultures believe that just speaking a person's name gives control over the owner to the listener. Who knows your name for instance? Just something else to think about. Bye. Dinner at six sharp."  
  
Once he'd gone, Parker walked to the bed, picked up the small plastic package of red licorice and, to her great surprise, fell sideways onto the thin mattress, laughing until the tears dripped off her jaw and soaked the crumpled quilt beneath her.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"She seems to be alright now."  
  
"Better."  
  
"She likes the candy. She's laughing."  
  
"Look again."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's been, what.... six, seven minutes now? She hasn't stopped yet. She can't. You wait. This will turn into a crying jag, but not until she's almost exhausted herself. Twisted, corrupted emotions never straighten themselves out easily. The process hurts like hell. Not everyone who tries it makes it to the other side."  
  
Glancing at Methos, Jarod threw him a thoroughly disappointed look.  
  
"I don't work or live well with a lot of negativity."  
  
"How about truth? I'm being realistic, son. You and Mac didn't think of everything. Speaking of Mac, I'd better go find him."  
  
Before he found the strength to overrule his pride, Jarod allowed his friend to get almost to the stairs to the upper level, the honesty of what Methos was trying to get through to him still warring with the peace and harmony he wanted to be able to give Parker without her having to walk through her own personal hell for it.  
  
"I'm.... I understand what you said. Look. Don't let his mistake destroy what you and Macleod have.... your friendship. He did his best. He helped her, even if it doesn't look like it at the moment."  
  
"I know."  
  
"We can't fail."  
  
"Then let's start planning. Give me a few private moments with Mac then meet us in the kitchen. We'll talk while we eat."  
  
"Alright. Twenty minutes?"  
  
"Perfect."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Long after dinner that evening, Methos and Macleod remained at the table, plates pushed aside as they discussed their differences relating to the last few days of the plan, their conversation carefully attended by Jarod.  
  
"You act like I don't know the time-table here, Mac. I'm as aware of it as you are. This schedule will work and it will only take me two more days, plus one for the final immersion treatment."  
  
"It could take longer. Thanks to me she's gun-shy and closer to her breaking point than she should be."  
  
"No way. Jarod was right. It wasn't anything you did. She did have a minor breakthrough. She just broke through going in the wrong direction. She'll be alright. We have to be really careful."  
  
"I want back in on the sessions."  
  
"Evening one tomorrow. No sooner. I have to sneak you back into her good graces first."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means that hopefully she'll have stopped calling you tall, dark and unbearably arrogant by then."  
  
The description caused Jarod, on his third serving of Boston Cream Pie, to burst out laughing, providently covering his mouth with his fork-free hand in time to prevent pie fragments from decorating his companions and half the length of the table.  
  
"Good catch." Methos chuckled. "Three pieces is enough, by the way. You'll be bouncing off the walls and you sleep little enough as it is."  
  
"I'll be fine. I metabolize sugar faster than other people."  
  
"Yeah?" Macleod mused, "Must have something to do with increased brain activity."  
  
"I think so. I'm pretty physically active, too, so that helps."  
  
"Look." Methos interjected, sliding Jarod's plate towards himself, "Quit helping him rationalize, would you? His metabolism has nothing to do with making himself sick OD-ing on dessert. No more tonight, mejo." he pronounced, rising to carry the plate to the trash and then the sink.   
  
Jarod watched it go a little sadly, his face sliding into a genuine childlike disappointment reminiscent of Winnie the Pooh on being informed the honey supply had run out.  
  
"And I always thought I'd enjoy having a father."  
  
"I didn't say no burgers or chips or ice cream or whatever. Just try and devote a little of that amazing brain to learning moderation, alright?" Methos advised, ruffling Jarod's hair lightly as he returned to his seat at the table.  
  
"It's not my fault. Calculus, philosophy; those I understand. I only lose perspective when I try to juxtapose the concept of too much with the concept of pepperoni and mushroom pizza."  
  
"We've noticed." the other two chorused in unison.  
  
"Can we get back to what we were discussing before you two got off on a nutrition science tangent? What do you think of the schedule, Mac?"  
  
"It seems perfect on paper. It's real tight, though. No room for repairs if we make a major blunder."  
  
"Then we can't. That's what tonight is for. Minimize errors and fix them before we make them."  
  
"I'm game for a couple more hours. After that I'll have to drag myself to bed."  
  
"That's okay. I'll be up." Jarod offered.  
  
Methos' only response was a reprise of the fatherly "What was that again?" scowl.  
  
"You said it yourself. I don't need much sleep. It's nothing I can change. I've tried a hundred times or more and nothing works. I'm not like the rest of the world. I've learned to accept that; use it to my advantage."  
  
"How?" Methos asked, his expression actively interested, "I've had five thousand years and I still haven't got the knack."  
  
"Sydney. I suppose he knew the day would come when my sense of morality would develop beyond the point where I'd still follow orders blindly. He understood that I'd end up in the world one way or another, so he taught me not to hate what made me special, showed me how to embrace that difference and make it an essential part of me; something I could cherish secretly. I kept that secret most of my life. I was afraid they'd steal that the way they'd stolen everything else. That acceptance of myself is what allows me to get by out here."   
  
"Out here? You still think of the world that way?" Macleod asked, stunned anew, as he always seemed to be, at the depths of his soul that his tortured young friend was willing to expose to people he'd only known a short while.  
  
"I can't think any other way." Jarod explained, gazing not at his friends but out the kitchen window into the night, as if the darkness gave him a strength lighted rooms and compassionate faces did not. "I can't just surgically remove the part of me that is the Centre. They invaded too many places.... too much of me is tainted.... polluted, contaminated.... I'm afraid if I tried to remove it, wash away all of them, their influence.... I'd die. There'd be too little left of the real me to survive."  
  
Methos, not expecting such an admission from Jarod, found himself having to rein in his first reaction, knowing Macleod would never let him live down even one tear caught slipping down his cheek.  
  
A quick glance at his good friend excusing himself from the table, head diverted from Methos' sight line, told him his worries were unnecessary. Instead of joining Mac at the sink doing dishes, Methos reached across the table, grasped Jarod's hands and held them tightly between his own.  
  
"They never touched the real you. Never. I know. If I thought.... Some of the things I've done have left scars, on my mind if not my body, but they never came close to damaging what I am. I wouldn't be here today if they had."   
  
Seeing Jarod wasn't getting what he was trying to say, Methos pulled him to his feet and dragged him into the living room to stand in front of a mirror that hung just to the left of the kitchen door.  
  
Placing a hand on either side of Jarod's head to prevent him from turning away from the lesson, Methos drew a deep breath and continued. "You look in your own eyes for a minute. I want you to stop looking at the blood they dipped your hands in and the poison they injected into your heart and your head. For one minute, I want you to see what I see. Your soul; your exquisitely beautiful, gentle, touched by the hand of the Almighty, soul."   
  
When Jarod tried to pull away, Methos held him tighter. "No. This is all that matters. You knowing that your soul is clean is all that counts."  
  
"You don't understand. You don't know.... what I've done can't be...."  
  
"What makes you think I don't know? I haven't told you even the smallest fraction of the things I've done. I wasn't a child, either, and I wasn't locked up, or having my arm twisted. The stains on my hands are mine Jarod; for all time. You can give yours back if you'll just decide you want to."  
  
"You're not listening. I don't want them to go away. I can't give up my...."  
  
"Your what? Your motivation for seeking vengeance for your pain and anguish over and over? You're not doing it for the same reasons as when you started, son. You know that. Look in your heart. No, look in your eyes. You'll see it's the truth. The truth is always in the eyes."  
  
"Not in mine...." Jarod growled, finally pulling free and stalking away to drop into a large chair several feet from the mirror, his face buried in his arms.  
  
Moving to crouch at Jarod's feet Methos kept pushing, though with less force.  
  
"Why won't you even look into your own eyes? What nasty thing do you expect to see? What is it you're so afraid you'll find?"  
  
Head up now, his dark orbs finding a new window and plumbing the depths of the night once again, Jarod took several shallow breaths then one or two deeper ones, as if trying to gain some measure of control he found difficult to achieve, before he was able to answer.  
  
"Nothing. I know that someday.... I'll look in a mirror.... and find nothing. I will have become the.... soulless, sociopathic freak they bred me to be."  
  
Reaching up to his friend's cheek, Methos gently swiped a tear away then pulled Jarod's head around to show him.  
  
"Nothing is without a soul. Nothing and noone.... not one creature on this earth can take your soul from you. This.... this right here is your evidence. You can feel, you can regret.... you can cry."  
  
"And when I can't?"  
  
Lifting himself into the oversized chair with Jarod, Methos grasped his friends face again, feeling tears of his own threatening to start.  
  
"You stop this, now. You're letting them win. These are their thoughts; their twisted, depraved, malignant thoughts. You give those thoughts back, you hear? You've no claim to them. Don't you dare let them win...."  
  
With his last few words, Methos pulled Jarod's head into his chest and wrapped his arms easily around him, absorbing the younger man's sobs and supporting his shaking body. Not until several minutes later did he realize Macleod was perched on the arm of the chair, patting, soothing and offering his own measure of comfort.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
BLUE COVE:  
  
"Syd. Sydney. God, Syd, please wake up!"  
  
"Broots? What is it? Are you.... why am I asking. Of course you aren't. Your back I presume?"  
  
"Yeah. I didn't wanna wake you, but...."  
  
"It's alright. Tell me." Sydney encouraged, sitting up.   
  
"It hurts. It's so bad. I went to sleep on my side, like you said I should. I must have turned onto my back in the night sometime. Can you...."  
  
"Of course. Come lie down and I'll see what I can learn."  
  
Broots crawled back to his air mattress, wincing with every motion that jarred his already painful lower back. Sydney followed closely, dropping easily to the floor to sit cross-legged by the edge of the makeshift bed. After only a few moments of examination, Sydney knew he could do nothing.  
  
"I'm sorry. The swellings gotten worse and it's caused a misalignment of the spine. It's the emergency room, I'm afraid."  
  
"No! No, way! You're my doctor. Noone else!"  
  
"You don't have a choice. A small misalignment can only become a larger one, and the large ones become lifelong disabilities. I'll bring the car around. You take all the time you need to dress and such and I'll meet you at the front door."  
  
"No! Syd, stop! You don't understand.... Let me explain. Please, come back and sit. It's kind of a long story."  
  
Intrigued, Sydney returned and dropped back into his previous position.   
  
"Around five years ago, I had a wipe-out on my Harley. I busted up my right side pretty good. When I realized I'd broken a couple ribs, I dragged myself to Blue Cove Hospital. If I'd known what I do now, I would have taped 'em up myself and lived with it.  
I mean.... how was I supposed to know the Centre runs the whole place? They gave me a painkiller.... except it wasn't. I didn't find that out for two weeks. They called me down to the infirmary, and kept me for three days. Whatever it was they shot me up with, it didn't do what it supposed to, and they wanted to know why."  
  
Before Sydney spoke, he massaged his chest several times, trying to loosen the heaviness on his heart, even though he knew it was emotional, and not anything he could remove.  
  
"What was it meant to do?"  
  
"Send me into convulsions, they said; make it look like I had some kind of seizure disorder. Anyway, they let me go when the three days was up, but they warned me that I could develop.... what was it.... temporary globe.... no. That's not right."  
  
"Temporal lobe epilepsy."  
  
"Yeah! That's right. Epilepsy I get, but what do the other words mean?"  
  
"The temporal lobe is the front portion of the brain, just behind the forehead. Temporal lobe epilepsy isn't like the more common episodic form. In temporal lobe, the sufferer experiences ultra-real hallucinations. They totally believe what they're seeing. I've even read of some patients with uncontrolled TLE severely injuring or killing themselves trying to escape illusions created by their own minds."  
  
"Great. The way I'm going, I should just walk into Raines' office, tell him what I really think of him and the Centre and let Willy tear my head off and roll it down an elevator shaft."  
  
"Why have you never mentioned this motorcycle accident before?"  
  
"It never came up. Do you really think I'm gonna end up jumping in front of a bus to get away from a nonexistent fifty-foot rat?"  
  
"I wouldn't worry about developing either type of epilepsy my friend. That sounds distinctly like a false front to me; something intended to send you running back to the Centre medical research teams at the slightest sign of anything unusual. Just stay alert to your body's signals. The drug may not cause a seizure disorder, but it will undoubtedly have some.... strange effects."  
  
"But... but R&D is working on half a million different projects, most of them beyond top-secret. I could have...."  
  
"Precisely. You could have received anything. As I said, be aware. Just don't let whatever occurs panic you into doing something.... reckless."  
  
"Like walking back into the Centre's hands?"  
  
"Yes. Like that. Stay here. I have a friend who's an excellent chiropractor. I just hope she likes me well enough to drag herself out of bed at this hour. By the way; in the morning I expect to hear all about you and motorcycles."  
  
"Help me get a few more hours of pain free sleep and you've got a deal."  
  
A short time later, Sydney returned carrying two objects in his left hand and a cherry wood box in the other. Kneeling by the bed, he laid everything on the floor and began to rub his friend's shoulders, hoping to soothe him through what was to come.  
  
"Terri can't get here until morning. She had a suggestion, but it will require a great deal of you. If you can't handle it, I'll understand, but...."  
  
"Go on. What is it?"  
  
"Her suggestion was to give you a shot, a combination of Demerol and liquid acetaminophen. "  
  
"Are you nuts?! You want to stick a needle in my back?"  
  
"It's the best option I have. I'll place the injection above the bruises. You shouldn't feel any pain for the next eight hours or more. Then we can both get some sleep."  
  
"The other option is...."  
  
"Acupuncture. It means fifteen or twenty extremely thin needles inserted in strategic points in your back and legs...."  
  
"Great bedside manner. I don't want either choice, but I didn't hear any option C."  
  
"You don't trust me. I understand that. After what they did to you at the hospital...."  
  
"It isn't you, Syd. Believe me. I trust you more than anyone in my life. Just go ahead and give me the shot, okay?"  
  
Gratitude for his friend's admission stealing his voice momentarily, Sydney had to swallow before he could speak.  
  
"Alright. You must lie perfectly still. This won't take long I promise."  
  
Only a few minutes later, Sydney had finished his task and Broots opened eyes and fists he had clenched tightly shut.  
  
"Done. How are you feeling? You should already be losing sensation below the injection site."  
  
"I am. The pain's fading. Thank God and thank you, Syd."  
  
"I'm just glad I was here. Get some sleep."  
  
"Okay. sounds good." Broots replied, already drifting away into drug-induced sleep, his eyes slipping nearly closed, then popping open again as some part of his conscious mind fought against the unnatural sensations caused in him by the chemicals.   
  
As the medication finally began to turn the tide of the war, his eyes snapped open for one last moment, but that moment would be one he would never be able to quite erase from his memory, as much as that would later become his fondest wish. What his brain told him he saw in that final flash of awareness that momentous night, he tried to dismiss, in rational morning light, as a side effect of the painkiller, though time would show him how wrong it can be to toss aside visions too easily.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2/Chapter 2---  
  
  
FOLLOWING MORNING:  
  
"I want you back here today, Sydney."  
  
"I'm very sorry, sir, but I'm still quite ill and Broots' injury is worse than I first thought. He woke last night in severe pain. If I hadn't given him some strong medication, he wouldn't have slept at all. As a matter of fact, he should be waking soon. I should.... check on... him. You'll excuse me sir. I think I sense this morning's toast and tea being rejected.... You have my word to get back in touch when... when I've... Oh dear..." Sydney moaned, feigning imminent illness as best he could in order to give himself a quick, but plausible, way off the phone.   
  
"If you can't.... or won't come to work, I'll come and see you. After lunch, properly dressed whether you're sick or not."  
  
"Of course, Sir. After lunch. See you then." he said, trying to infuse suffering, weakness and fragility into his tone all at the same time. Hanging up, Sydney strode to his closet, searching for anything that might fit Broots when and if the younger man ever decided to rise and shine. A glance at his watch told him time was shorter than he'd thought and he moved back to the air-bed to wake his friend, dropping back into the position he sat in the night before and reaching out to gently vibrate Broots' shoulder.  
  
"Broots. You need to get up. Terri will be here any minute and Mister Parker is paying us a surprise visit later. Please. I know it won't be easy, but you must."  
  
Eyes still closed, Broots tossed halfway onto his left side, and spoke.  
  
"No.... you don't know... what did you do...."  
  
The low tone and the evident fear the words contained told Sydney his friend was in the throes of an intense nightmare. Just as he began to reconsider waking him, Broots made the decision for him. Before Sydney could react, Broots had pushed off the air mattress and clambered into his arms, terror widening his eyes, his entire body trembling.  
  
"Broots. Talk to me please. What's happened? What's wrong?" Sydney pleaded quietly, moving his friend into a seated position on the floor next to him.  
  
"I can't... I mean, it wasn't.... I'm sorry, Syd. Really sorry. I saw something.... I thought I did anyway. Just before I fell asleep last night, the whole room changed. I...."  
  
Unable to explain his vision properly, Broots stopped, his head   
lowered, gathering energy to try again. "It was the worst nightmare I've ever had, only it wasn't. I know I was still awake. I know I was."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"They found Jarod; brought him back. He wasn't.... right, though. He was in a wheelchair, wearin those blue clothes like surgeons do. He looked like a zombie and acted about ten miles lower on the food chain than Angelo. He just sat there for a long time.... then he looked up, right at me, and started saying 'you helped them, you put me here. you helped them, you put me here....' over and over. God, Syd. I wanted to start screamin', but the drugs were working too fast. I can't get that picture out of my head. It was like I was remembering something I'd seen instead of dreaming. It was so real."  
  
"I know. Sydney empathized, "It was a dream. You have to believe that. Powerful medication can have all kinds of consequences, especially if you aren't accustomed to it. Vivid dreams and nightmares are a common side effect. How's your back this morning?"  
  
"Better; a little."  
  
"Shall I send Terri home?"  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
"I thought as much. Speaking of Terri, she should be..."  
  
Hearing the bell on the back door, Sydney left the thought incomplete, rose and walked to the intercom by the bedroom door. "Terri?"  
  
"In the flesh and at your service."  
  
"I'll buzz you in. Come straight back to the bedroom."  
  
"On my way."  
  
A few minutes later a tall, rangy brunette strode into the room carrying two gym bags full of equipment as if they contained nothing at all. Dropping them near the air-bed, she embraced Sydney tightly.  
  
"How are you, Abe?"  
  
"Fine. It's good to see you again. It's been far too long since our last session."  
  
"Yes, it has. That ankle will start seizing up on you again if you don't get back to the office soon. This must be your friend with the bad lumbar."  
  
"Hi. Look.... I'm sorry... with the shot Sydney gave me.... I slept so long I didn't have time to dress or anything...."  
  
"It's okay." she assured him, dropping to her knees by the bags she'd brought. "Shirt and shorts is better for my purposes anyhow. Terri Simonson." she announced, sticking out her hand.  
  
"Broots."  
  
Appraising him carefully with only one eye open, Terri shook her head.  
  
"Can I, Abe?"  
  
"Certainly. Go ahead."  
  
"Herbie? Uh-uh. Not Stewie either. It's a y, not an ie. Ahh. That's it. Just right. Petey."  
  
"Why Petey?"  
  
"He's a cross between Pete Townsend from the Who and the dog from the Little Rascals."  
  
Sydney burst into restrained laughter, while Broots, his expression a mixture of mild fear and total disbelief, slid a few inches further away from the newcomer than he had been sitting.  
  
"How did you know that?"  
  
"You've done it again, Terri." Sydney put in. "It's just something she does, Broots. I've never known quite how. She's never failed that I know of. Who gave you the name?"  
  
"My little sister. She said the same thing; pretty much to the word as a matter of fact."  
  
"Quit trying to scare him, Abe. It's a party trick, that's all. If you'll lay on your stomach, Mr. Broots, I'll see what I can do."   
  
Reluctantly, Broots did as she had asked. Lifting the hem of his shirt, Terri examined the bruises briefly then gave out with a low whistle. "What did you do; tie him to the grill of an eighteen wheeler and ram it into a cement wall?"  
  
"It would take too long too explain."  
  
"The old out. Okay, okay. I'll accept it like I always do. Until I get the alignment right, this will hurt worse than it has since it happened, so bear with me. It should be a quick adjustment, but you never know."  
  
"Her bedside manner's about as good as yours, Syd."   
  
"That's why we like each other so much."  
  
"Again with the jokes. Who ever told you you were funnyyyyy!"  
  
His sentence degenerating into a scream that shredded as it was forced through clenched teeth, Broots arched his body briefly in reaction to the promised pain, then settled back, tense and wary, waiting for the next flash of agony and trying to prepare.   
  
"Lay still, okay? Can I get you another shot?"  
  
"Oh, no! I never want to hear that word again. Never again. Don't even think about it!"  
  
Gazing quickly at Sydney, Terri received a look that said he would answer her questions later. As she had for years, she let him have his secrets, whether temporary or eternal, and went back to her work.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"I haven't decided."  
  
"What is there to decide? This is mine. I'm eminently qualified and I'm also the only one who can do it."  
  
"No. You aren't. Be that as it may...."  
  
"I am. You'll never find her. I can. I can find her and him and lay them both at your feet."  
  
"You talk as if your sister participated in her own abduction."  
  
"Didn't she? She walked in here, presented you with an agenda but no details and walked out again. That tells me she knew more than she was saying to anyone. Don't forget; you're the one who let her go. Any tragedy is on your shoulders. I've already spoken to Dr. Raines. If you refuse to do anything about Jarod's crimes, he will, and I'll be right beside him when he does."  
  
"Will you?"  
  
"In a New York minute.... if you leave me no other choice. He's offered me, shall we say a very..... attractive post in his division. It seems like whether or not I take it is up to you."  
  
After a long, pensive silence, hands folded on his desk as he gazed at his son, Mister Parker finally spoke.  
  
"No, son. It's up to you. If you'd be happier working under Dr. Raines, then by all means I'll initiate the transfer as soon as possible. I would never force you to stay where you don't feel you're accomplishing anything."  
  
For several minutes, Lyle gave his father his own version of the silent treatment before realizing it was having no effect. Smoothing invisible wrinkles from his suit jacket in order to keep his hands from clenching, Lyle drew in a deep breath through his nose and released it the same way before leaving a parting shot for his father and stalking from the room.  
  
"I will find my sister, Jarod and whoever helped him do this, I will bring them here and then they, and you, will pay dearly for betraying the Centre."  
  
When his son had cleared the room, slamming the door nearly hard enough to split the hinges in half, Mister Parker picked up the phone and dialed a long series of numbers.   
  
"You were right."  
  
"You knew. I shouldn't have had to push your nose in your mistake."  
  
"We can't afford to lose him. He's still valuable to...."  
  
"Noone is valuable forever. The sand is rapidly running through his hourglass.... and yours. Let one warning be sufficient."  
  
"You don't dare to threaten my position here......"  
  
"You threaten yourself." he was reminded curtly, then swiftly hung up on.  
  
This time, the dial tone seemed to draw out of him a far more powerful rage than even the call from Jarod had. He dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if his hand had gone numb, oblivious when the curved piece of plastic bounced away from its intended goal and clattered to the floor.   
  
Gliding his chair back from the desk, he stood, but remained still, as if he had forgotten what he'd started out to do, myriad expressions crossing and re-crossing his face. For a long time, he simply stared his hands, first the palms, and then the backs, turning them over again and again, as if he expected to discover all the answers to his problems there but had found only blank space; further disappointment and frustration.   
  
Glancing up, his eye caught the glass table in front of the new sofa. Walking to the corner where the majority of the of the furniture in his office sat, he dropped to the couch, retrieving his wife's picture, but gazing at it only briefly before relegating it to the cushions beside him. Placing his palms flat on the translucent surface, he slid them back and forth, as if he were trying to absorb the coolness and clarity of the glass through his pores.  
  
Mercifully for him, his conscious mind retreated when, moments later, he slammed both palms through the glass with all the force he possessed. Only when the self-induced amnesia faded back in to an image of the glittering ruin of his table, the shards now spattered with the blood from his sliced and broken hands, did he begin to feel the full effect of the damage he had done to himself.  
  
His senses restored, the blankness in his eyes now utterly banished in favor of a grimace of pain, Mister Parker stood and moved into his private bath to rinse his wounds and determine how badly lacerated and broken his hands actually were. He was still assessing his injuries when his son, having heard the crash, rushed back in followed by two security guards. Hearing the water running, he assumed his father was at least alive, if not particularly alright judging by the coffee table, and dismissed the other men. Hearing the phone receiver softly buzzing out a busy signal, he moved to replace it then joined his father in the small washroom.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"An accident. I obviously can't drive now, so you'll have to take my afternoon appointment for me."  
  
"Me? Since when did I become worthy of doing your errands again?"  
  
"You are still a member of this organization, you are still under my orders and you will follow them with out sarcasm and without question. Is that clearly understood?"  
  
"Clear as glass. Who's the appointment with?"  
  
"Sydney. I had arranged to meet him at his place after lunch, but...."  
  
"The "accident." I get it. You're not going to tell me what really happened, are you?"  
  
All Lyle received for his badgering was a stern glare and more commands.  
  
"Be there by one. No later. Seeing you will be a surprise. Use that to your advantage. Find out what he's hiding about your sister's disappearance and confirm that Broots was actually injured. I'm not sure whether to believe either of their stories. Get me the truth."  
  
"As only I can. You will be okay, right?"  
  
"Fine. Go eat. Don't be late for your appointment."  
  
"I won't. See you when I get back."  
  
"I'll want a detailed report."  
  
"Of course." Lyle tossed over his shoulder as he left.  
  
Only a step or two behind, Mister Parker followed him out, headed for the infirmary to have the wounds he didn't remember receiving stitched and dressed, planning as he walked how to avoid bothersome questions and quietly dispose of the remains of his office coffee table.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Mr. Lyle. I was expecting Mister Parker." Sydney said on opening the door to the wrong official visitor. "Please. Come in."  
  
"My father had other business come up at the eleventh hour. He sends his regrets."  
  
"Can I get you coffee?"  
  
"Whiskey neat, if you have it."  
  
"Of course. Any particular favorite brand?"  
  
"Anything will do. Just put it in a tall glass and bring it."  
  
"Right." Sydney replied, moving slowly to the liquor cabinet on the far wall. "I've been sipping warm brandy for the past hour or so. It seems to be the only thing I can keep on my stomach."  
  
"Really. Where was it you said you got this monster case of food poisoning again?"  
  
"It wasn't that bad. A severe case would have put me in the hospital. All the same, it's been bad enough." Sydney commented as he walked to where Lyle stood gazing out the window that faced on the back yard. Handing the other man his drink, Sydney grabbed his own snifter of amber liquid and sank into a chair. "It was a place called Samuels, down by the water. I was rather shocked, actually. I've been there many times and never even the hint of a problem. I trust they had no idea, themselves, that the seafood had gone off. I ate it, and I couldn't tell there was a thing wrong. Until later of course."  
  
"And the accident?"  
  
"Broots was waiting for me in the car across the street. I must have looked dreadful when I left the restaurant. I certainly was beginning to feel that way. He took one look and rushed across the street to help me, ignoring the traffic, unfortunately. The first car brushed him and turned him around. The second tried to stop but managed to strike him in the lower back regardless. The injury wasn't crippling by any means, thank the Lord, but he's still in considerable pain."  
  
"Where is he now?"  
  
"Asleep in the bedroom. I think he's still groggy from the dose of medication I gave him last night."  
  
The momentary look of panic and fear on Lyle's face when he whirled to face Sydney shocked and confused the older man, though it was there and gone so fast he wasn't sure it had ever been.  
  
"What did you give him?"  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
"Open your ears, doctor. What did you give him?"  
  
"A low dose of demerol mixed with liquid acetaminophen. Why?" Sydney questioned, all his instincts snapping to full attention. "The combination is perfectly safe...."  
  
"I'm sure it is. I need to see him."  
  
The hairs at the nape of his neck rising, Sydney suddenly felt compelled to safeguard Broots from Lyle. Even though he had no real reason to fear for his friend's life, he found himself doing just that.  
  
"That wouldn't be wise just now. He needs all the rest he can get."  
  
"I don't intend to wake him up. My orders are to confirm that he was actually injured. As soon as I've done that, then you and I can sit down with our drinks.... and have a long productive conversation. Lead the way."  
  
"I'm sorry.... sir. I can't allow him to be disturbed. We should both be back at work by tomorrow. If he wishes to let you examine him then, I won't interfere. Right now, he's practically unconscious. I wouldn't let anyone in to see him in such a vulnerable state."  
  
{Especially not you,} he thought, {and especially not the way you're acting right now.}   
  
"I'm not anyone.... doctor. My orders come from your direct chain of command superior, and that makes me as much your superior as he is. You will do as you've been told. I'm sure you've witnessed what happens to those who don't."  
  
"Far too often, actually." Sydney replied in a low tone, rising slowly from the chair. "Alright. You're not to touch him. I'll show you what you want to see, then we leave him alone."  
  
Walking slightly ahead of Lyle, Sydney took only a step or two before being hauled roughly backwards by his elbows, both arms held tightly behind him and Lyle whispering gutturally in his right ear.  
  
"Listen very closely. I barely tolerate taking orders from my father anymore. I'm certainly not taking them from you. Are we absolutely clear on that point?"  
  
"Perfectly, but if I even sense that you intend to harm him, I'll see that you answer to a power higher than your father, the Tower or the Triumvirate."  
  
"We have quite a high opinion of ourselves, don't we?"  
  
"Oh, no. Not myself. If you harm either one of us I'll send you to meet God without an ounce of regret. Let him be your final judge."  
  
No longer so smug or in control, Lyle released Sydney abruptly, shoving him forward at the same time.  
  
"Go. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you and I can get down to our business."  
  
Rubbing his arms where Lyle's hands had clutched him, Sydney walked down the short hall off the living room that led to the more private areas of the house, including the bedrooms, thinking all the while that he might just make good on his threat, regardless of what might happen in the next few minutes.  
  
When he entered the room where Broots lay buried under a comforter, deeply asleep, Lyle remained in the doorway.  
  
"Come in, as long as you keep in mind...."  
  
"If I wanted to, I would. Lift up the quilt so I can get a good look."  
  
Moving slowly, to avoid even the slightest chance of awakening his friend, Sydney rolled the near edge of the spread toward himself just enough for Lyle to see that Broots' bruises were genuine then replaced it. Gazing calmly at Lyle, Sydney gestured out the door.  
  
"If you're satisfied...."  
  
"Never, but it'll have to do. Shall we have that discussion now?"  
  
"Actually, no. Whatever it was will have to wait until I return to work. It's been a very tiring morning, and I was already ill, as I believe I said earlier. I'd prefer you leave. I'll walk you out...."  
  
As the other man passed him, Lyle grabbed him by his already tender forearm and dragged him back into the living room.  
  
"Your preferences are worth about as much as your life will be if I don't get some straight answers and pretty damn fast. Sit." he growled tossing his captive into a nearby chair. "You know more about what happened to my sister than you've told anybody yet. Well now you're going to tell me. I want everything; every expression on her face, every word she said, everything."  
  
"Do you? I wouldn't be so sure."  
  
Sliding his pistol from its shoulder holder, Lyle chambered a bullet then let his gun hand rest at his side.  
  
"Answer me, or sleeping beauty will have to call the coroner and a maid with a real strong stomach when he wakes up."  
  
"A weapon is no incentive to cooperation or truth."  
  
His face contorted with frustration, Lyle covered the foot or two that separated him from Sydney in a flash of movement. The gun found its way to the older man's temple even faster.  
  
"I don't want Aristotle and Plato. Give me one straight answer.... just one.... and maybe I won't spread that brilliant mind of yours all over your pretty drapes."  
  
"You already know everything relevant. She went willingly. She wanted to be there. Jarod simply changed the rules of the game."  
  
Though he tried to hide his fear, Sydney tensed visibly when the weapon against his skin impressed itself deeper.  
  
"More."  
  
"She was happy. It was the first time in weeks I've really seen her smile. She made a call or two, tidied up her desk and left."  
  
"Calls to who?"  
  
Gazing up past the steel barrel, Sydney answered testily, his anger beginning to get the best of him.  
  
"I wasn't on the other end of the phone."  
  
Lips tightening in rage, Lyle brought his pistol up and down faster than Sydney's eyes could follow it, using the butt to strike the older man a solid blow on the top of the shoulder. Pain roaring through his neck and right arm, Sydney slumped a few inches lower in the chair, his eyes squeezing shut, his mind fighting off the shock of the sudden assault.  
  
"Do you even understand the concept of a straight answer?! I really hope so, otherwise you and Broots may both end up in the morgue at the Centre with lots of doctors in white coats wondering how I turned you inside out. Now.... sit up.... and talk to me!" Lyle screamed, lifting Sydney roughly by his injured arm, forcing him to comply. "Did she say where she was going?"  
  
"She didn't.... know. I.... I think that was.... all part of the game. I asked, but.... she didn't seem to want to know. Too much fun.... leaving it a surprise."  
  
"Has she called you?"  
  
"Of course not. Jarod would never allow it."  
  
"So you have had contact with him."  
  
"You already know I have. Jarod and I communicate frequently."  
  
"That won't last much longer if I have my say."  
  
"You.... you have to know you'll never truly capture Jarod now. Don't you see that? Even if we drag him back in, he would be of no use to us. His experiences in the world have tainted his objectivity. He'd starve himself before he'd do any more sims, and he can't do anything hooked up to IV fluids. You'd end up killing him. Why bring him back if that's the only possible ending?"  
  
"Smart as you are, you still don't get it do you? This isn't about Jarod anymore. It's about redeeming the reputation of the Centre. He's dumped humiliation on all of us for years, but this time.... He's taken it one step beyond. Noone.... noone, including and especially Jarod, comes after my family and gets off. One way or the other, he will pay for his crimes."  
  
The pain in his right side still raging, sensing that no matter what he said his life would be forfeit, Sydney spoke from his heart and his conscience, intent on keeping Lyle's attention on him and away from Broots; not quite believing the words that came out of his mouth, but receiving renewed strength simply from the saying of them.  
  
"And yours? Who, besides God almighty, will pass judgment on you for the inhumanity and evil you've committed in the name of your sick, twisted thoughts or the Centre's edicts?"  
  
Strolling slowly around the back of the chair, Lyle grinned as he laid the business end of his pistol at the base of Sydney's neck.  
  
"Don't hold back, Syd. Tell me what you really think."  
  
"You've always known that. I don't need to tell you anything."  
  
Sitting straighter, Sydney kept his eyes forward and waited for his own judgment to come, praying the end would be as swift and as painless as he'd always heard gunshots to the head could be.  
  
Suddenly, as abruptly as the cold steel had first touched his skin, the contact vanished. The solid thump of Lyle hitting the floor sent Sydney sprinting out of his chair, despite his injury, and around the back of the chair to determine what had happened.   
  
He found Broots standing over a deeply unconscious Lyle, a wooden meat pounder from the kitchen in his hand, the tool still wet with the blood from a fresh wound on top of the other man's head.  
  
"Broots! What could have possessed you to...."  
  
"He was ready to shoot you." Broots replied quietly, unable to tear his eyes from Lyle's blood as it dripped back onto the one it had come from.  
  
"Broots. Look at me. I need you to look at me. Put that down."  
  
Finally seeming to understand what he was holding, Broots dropped the wooden tool as if it were toxic and burning his skin and refocused his attention on Sydney. "Good. Now. How could you possibly know what was going on out here? The last I saw of you, you were deeply asleep."  
  
"It was just like last night. I was just wakin' up and the whole room vanished again. I saw you lying on the carpet in front of this chair.... you were dead. Lyle laughed down at you, turned back, chambered a bullet and.... and headed for the bedroom. You have to stop this, Syd. I couldn't take another repeat of this stuff. Make it stop, Syd, okay?"   
  
Feeling tears begin to slide from one eye, Broots turned away, but Sydney turned him back.  
  
"We can try to figure this out later, my friend, whatever is happening. Right now, he's our first concern. I think I know the solution, but we don't have much time to implement it, so you have to help. Can you put your fear aside for the moment? I understand it won't be easy. I'm sorry if I seem insensitive, but...."  
  
"No. I can do it, as long as you promise me you'll try and fix me after. This really scares me."  
  
"I know. Please go and get the coil of climbing rope in the garage. Before we can do anything, I need to make sure he won't be leaving unless I want him to."  
  
"And what will you be doing?"  
  
"Gathering a few things from my medical bag."  
  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"As sure as my Boy Scout training can make me. He's going nowhere."  
  
"Let's hope so. One sudden move and the needle could break under his skin. Removing it would require surgery, leaving scars.... I'd really rather not send him out of here with any sign of injury except the head wound."  
  
"What are you giving him anyway?"  
  
"This first is a mild hallucinogenic. It should make him suggestible enough for my needs. That way the second will be more effective."  
  
"And the second is...."  
  
"Styx-15."  
  
When Sydney spoke the words, Broots paled, his eyes popping as he stumbled backwards away from his friend.   
  
"What.... how.... noone is supposed to have access to that except Raines and his research team!"  
  
"And I have a DSA player in my trunk. Someday I'll share more of my deepest secrets with you, but right now, I need your help, so please come back over here."  
  
"What can I do? I already knocked him out. I did my part."  
  
"You did fine. Just for safety's sake, I want you to kneel on his hand. He'll be coming around soon, and he'll be furious. I can't take even the slightest chance."  
  
"You better hurry with that first shot." Broots warned, watching Lyle's eyelids begin to flutter.  
  
"I'm ready." Sydney responded, tapping the barrel of the syringe and releasing a tiny amount of the amber liquid to be certain no air remained in the barrel or the needle. He had just begun to swab the inside of Lyle's elbow with alcohol when Mister Parker's strong right hand awoke, his face suffusing with total rage as he finally understood his situation.  
  
"You.... what the hell do you think you're doing?!"  
  
"Assuring our safety and your potential redemption. This is much more than you deserve. I trust that somewhere, very deep inside yourself, you know that. There are any number of drugs, here and at the Centre, that I could have given you and been sure your eyes would never open again. Instead, I decided to offer you what I believe Jarod is offering your sister; a second chance to choose the direction your life will take. I can only pray that the evil in you hasn't become so deeply rooted that it will prevail despite what I'm about to do. Broots. Now, please."  
  
Broots obeyed and the first injection was successful.  
  
"When I tell my father and the Triumvirate about this...."  
  
"If luck is with us, they'll never know what happened to you. I think it must be, since Broots was able to save not only my life but also his own by knocking you unconscious before you could shoot either one of us. You were going to shoot him as well? No need to answer. I know what you were going to do."  
  
"Answer one for me then."  
  
"If I can."  
  
"How the hell did the weasel get the drop on me? I always know he's there."  
  
"Since you won't remember any of this conversation in a few moments anyway, I suppose it won't do any harm." Sydney replied, preparing the second syringe. "Since I gave him the painkiller last night, he's begun experiencing pre-cognitive visions; the result, I assume, of an unauthorized experiment you've been running out of Blue Cove hospital?" The terror and fruitless outrage Sydney found now creeping into Lyle's expression told him he was right. "He saw what you were going to do beforehand and had the tremendous courage to come out and stop you. I've already commended him. You didn't hear him because he'd been asleep. Bare feet."  
  
"Broots...You have to get back to the Centre.... let the med teams and the psych staff help you.... damn...." Lyle swore quietly, desperately trying to shake off the effects of the head wound and fight the drug dragging him down into a sea of dark water and white noise. "I can tell you who to go to for help...."  
  
"Sure. I vanish and your butts are covered. No, thanks. I've got Syd. He's all I need."  
  
"But.... you don't understand.... what it is.... you were given."  
  
"I don't want to know. I didn't ask for this. How could...."  
  
Broots stopped himself, censoring the unaccustomed angry words flowing through his mind, intensely disliking the hostile sensations Lyle created in him.  
  
"Broots." Sydney urged. "Go make me up an ice bag and a pot of hot tea would you?"  
  
"But...."  
  
"Please. I've seen this part. It's nasty and ugly. You shouldn't have those images to deal with for the rest of your life."  
  
"Like you do?"   
  
Sydney kept his silence. "I'll be right back." Broots conceded, walking into the kitchen, afraid to leave Sydney alone with someone so dangerous, but more afraid of witnessing the effects of the Styx-15.  
  
"Sydney...."  
  
"This is necessary. I'm sorry."  
  
Drifting in and out of reality, Lyle gathered the strength to ask one final question.  
  
"What.... is that?"  
  
"Styx-15. I'm hoping it, and my skill at post-hypnotic suggestion, will be all you need to make a change in your path."  
  
"Sty.... No! Oh, God, no! Sydney.... stop!"  
  
His pleas going unanswered, Lyle finally lost the battle against the hallucinogen, his gaze swimming around the room, head slipping slightly to one side as Sydney administered the second shot.  
  
"Listen very carefully. In a moment, you will hear a sentence beginning with the words "the key is". When I complete this sentence, all you know of your past will be erased from both your conscious and sub-conscious mind. What you are now, what you have been, will be irretrievably gone, leaving only space to be filled by the moments, hours, and days after you awake. After you regain consciousness, this sentence will have no effect on you. The key is refuge."  
  
As he had to do with nearly all the children and adults, except Jarod, that he'd seen subjected to Styx, Sydney had to turn away from the twitching, writhing body and tortured expression of his enemy.   
  
Jarod had been the first one he'd ever seen be given the drug. There were still times, even now, when the memory haunted his nights, refusing him sleep, his own heart indicting him for not doing something to stop the torture and mental rape of a child he had already come to love.   
  
Though he knew that what he had done was the only humane solution, and a great deal better than he had been tempted to do for him, Sydney still couldn't bring himself to watch as Lyle fought the commands he'd been given and the chemical compound reinforcing them. Only when Lyle had quieted did Sydney rise, favoring his injured shoulder badly, and make his way to the kitchen to join Broots.  
  
"Is it over?"  
  
"Yes. For now. There's still a bit of work to do, unfortunately. I'll need your help again. At best this shoulder is only dislocated, at worst...."  
  
"It's swelling pretty bad. I don't think "at best" is an option. You know I'll help, Syd. We owe each other everything now." Broots reminded his friend, placing the ice bag gently on Sydney's shoulder and a cup of hot, sweet tea in his hands. "So what's first?"  
  
"In the bedroom closet, there's an old costume, a monks robe. You'll need to go to the costume shop downtown and get one to fit yourself. The sandals should be in the closet as well. I think the smaller pair should fit you. I'll explain the rest when you get back."  
  
"How long will he be out?"  
  
"The effects will last at least twenty-four more hours, possibly longer. We'll have all the time we need."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"But.... he should have been.... back long ago. If anything had.... happened or.... gone wrong, he would have made contact." Mister Parker grumbled, his sentences sprinkled with hesitations as the suture needle moved in and out of his skin.  
  
Gazing over his shoulder at the man behind him, he considered ordering him to help, but immediately quashed the thought, knowing he always got more cooperation from Raines when the ghoul believed the idea to act had been his own.  
  
"I warned you when you first presented your absurd proposal to the Tower. I told you then that Melissa was not Centre operative material. If you had only allowed...."  
  
"Molly. Her name is Molly."  
  
"You know I despise nicknames for children. They undermine proper discipline. Children must always be called by the Christian names they were given at birth."  
  
"Really? Mind telling me what I should call Jarod, then, when he calls next?"  
  
"Getting a little spirited in our free speech, aren't we? What you call him is beyond irrelevant. Just show me someone who can succeed where you've failed and find him!"  
  
"We don't need anyone else. She'll be back soon. Jarod may delight in playing his little head-games with the Centre, but I've learned he's a man of his word. He'll return her."  
  
"In what condition?" Raines purred, low, rough and close to Parker's ear, then moved slowly out of the infirmary cubicle.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"I feel stupid, Syd. I may have the sex life of a monk, but this is going too far....  
  
"It won't be much longer. If anyone happens to see us helping him into the abbey, they'll assume we belong here. Come. Help me get him out of the car."  
  
Moving to join Sydney at the passenger's side of the car, Broots slipped an arm around Lyle's shoulder and together the two friends lifted the lifeless body and walked it to the back door of the monastery, where friends of Sydney's, who were actual monks, waited to receive the unusual delivery. Passing Lyle off to the men behind him, the abbot then turned back and embraced Sydney carefully, but with much affection.  
  
"So good to see you, Abe! You can't stick around, though. We'll take good care of whoever he is. Go quickly, now, before you're spotted."  
  
"See you early in the morning."  
  
"Yes. It'll be wonderful to have you back, even if only for a short time."  
  
"If it were my choice...."  
  
"I know. Please go. Being seen here would put you in a great deal more danger than it would us."  
  
"Until tomorrow, Micheal."  
  
"Yes. Until. Go!"  
  
As Sydney slid gingerly into the passenger's side of the car, he caught an openly curious look from the man behind the wheel.  
  
"I did promise, and I'll fulfill it. Just not now. Let's get home. You have some things you have yet to tell me as well, don't forget. Motorcycles I believe it was?"  
  
"Did you say home? Sounds like a great idea. Let's go."  
  
Smiling at Broots avoidance of the subject, Sydney sat back and wound down as much as he possibly could on the short trip back to his house.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Twice in one day? Did you and Petey join the NFL or something?"  
  
"Please. No...."  
  
"I know. No questions. Right shoulder?"  
  
"Yes." Sydney confirmed, hissing in pain as Terri examined and gently manipulated the joint.  
  
"Definitely dislocated. There could be rotator cuff damage too. It's impossible to tell without an MRI."  
  
"What can you recommend as a stop-gap measure?"  
  
"Not much. Without knowing if the rotator cuff is torn, I don't dare try to reseat the shoulder. How long do you plan to put off treating this thing?"  
  
"Only a day or two."  
  
"You can keep it in a sling that long. No longer, or you'll need physical therapy to restore full function."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"You should. You waited almost twenty years to go to anyone about that ankle. Why, I'll never know."  
  
"That's right." Sydney replied, smiling sadly at Terri as she deftly twisted a long strip of white cloth from her bag into a properly sized sling and slid his arm into it just as an unexpected knock on the door startled them all momentarily.  
  
Strolling to the living room intercom panel, Sydney touched the send button, simultaneously adding the weak, ill tones back into his voice. When his visitor responded, Sydney found himself feeling extremely grateful he had.  
  
"Afternoon, Sydney. Open the door."  
  
"Dr. Raines. Of course, sir. Hold on just a moment, won't you? I'll be right there."  
  
Shooing Broots into the bedroom and Terri out the back door, Sydney moved slowly to the door, using the thought of what could have happened to Miss Parker in Raines' hands to achieve the sickly, pale look he needed the man outside to see.  
  
"Good day, sir. Please come in. I wasn't aware we had an appoi...."  
  
"Mister Parker had an.... accident. Where's Lyle?"  
  
"Mr. Lyle? He hasn't been here today."  
  
"He sent Mr. Lyle in his place. Are you asking me to believe he never showed up?"  
  
"It's the truth. I haven't heard from or seen him since Monday."  
  
"Broots?"  
  
"Asleep. His back is still bothering him a great deal."  
  
"And you?"  
  
"Me, sir?"  
  
"The sling. Did you contract some new strain of food poisoning that has side effects I haven't heard about?"  
  
The slight undercurrent of genuine interest beneath Raines' words made Sydney want to shudder, but he hid it well and concocted a cover story off the top of his head.  
  
"No. Of course not.... sir. I've been so weak that I slipped getting out of the shower and rammed this arm and shoulder dead on into a towel rack."  
  
"Not having a lucky week are we?"  
  
"It appears we aren't. How bad is Mister Parker's injury?"  
  
"Not severe. A few lacerations and stitches. I'll only ask this once more, Sydney. I wouldn't advise lying. If you know where Lyle is, tell me now. It will go easier on you when you stand before the Triumvirate."  
  
His gaze steady, his expression never wavering from the vaguely interested, deeply weary one he'd worn since his visitor had entered, Sydney responded quickly, his voice quiet, but with such an undertone of steel that it would have backed anyone but Raines off at least two steps, if not more.  
  
"As I said, he hasn't come to the house today. I didn't even see him Monday, actually. I only spoke to him on the phone. I give you my word of honor. If he had been here, I would tell you."  
  
"I don't believe you, Sydney. I think you have the information I want. You know precisely where both the Parker children are. If you can't.... or won't tell me, I think I know who you will tell. With a little.... persuasion, of course."  
  
"That won't be necessary." Sydney replied, the conviction in his voice even stronger now than it had been.  
  
"If I want Lyle back, I have a distinct feeling it is. Since you obviously can't drive yourself, shall we ride to the Centre together?"  
  
"I'll be staying here with Broots. He's on fairly heavy pain meds and I can't leave him unattended."  
  
"I believe this is the first time you've ever defied me.... doctor. Openly, that is. Privately is another matter. I can't know everything, of course. Fine. You stay." Raines announced, turning to go. "Once my discussion with the Tower is concluded, someone will be by to.... invite you to your hearing."  
  
His heart racing, Sydney found himself fighting off a sudden urge to call the other man back and confess all his sins from kindergarten forward. He won the battle at the last minute by focusing on an almost inaudible voice speaking from the depths of his mind, one he hadn't allowed himself to hear in a long time. It hit him, for the first time that the familiar, dark voice was no longer his alone, but had become a combination of his and Jarod's.  
  
It's alright, Sydney. Soon it won't matter. None of it will matter. Concentrate on keeping Broots and yourself alive. The rest will be what it will be...  
  
Hearing Raines' car start, Sydney snapped back from his reveries and moved as quickly as he could to consult with Broots on how their plans might have to be altered now that Raines had decided to involve himself.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	3. Chapter 3

Part 2/Chapter 3  
  
NEXT DAY:  
  
"Necessary? What does necessary have to do with anything? It's five a.m., I'm awake and I'm back in the Friar Tuck outfit. Ughhh. Sneaky stuff is for morning people."  
  
"It shouldn't take long. I need to be present when he comes around. Just in case."  
  
"You said this method should be practically foolproof." Broots replied, sliding the car slowly into a spot behind the abbey where it would be less likely to be sighted.  
  
"Practically is the important word. Nothing's perfect. If he should recognize either of us, I'll have to re-sedate him and return with supplies to maintain him in that state indefinitely."  
  
"Indef.... you mean put him in a coma?"  
  
"A chemically induced one, yes."  
  
Though he shuddered inwardly at the thought, Broots managed to keep his expression from showing it as he opened Sydney's door and helped him out of the car.  
  
"Whatever you have to do, Syd, I'm right here for you. You know that. I'll help however I can."  
  
"I'm grateful. I couldn't have gotten through any of this if...."  
  
"Oh, no. We both know the truth, Syd. You wouldn't be in any of this if it hadn't been for me." Broots countered as the two walked to the side door of the abbey.  
  
"We'll discuss your overblown guilt complex later. Let's just finish this, shall we? Then we can both go home and get some sleep."  
  
When his friend's grip on his good arm faltered slightly, Sydney glanced quickly at Broots, but found nothing but a small, tight smile covering a lot of grim determination, and decided to let it go.  
  
"Abe. Welcome. Get in here, and put a wiggle on it! One or two of the brothers reported seeing a lot more dark suits and sunglasses in town this morning than there should be."  
  
"They haven't gotten near the abbey?"  
  
"Not so far. I think we kind of intimidate them. Even if they did dare, there's always the vow of silence routine."  
  
"They wouldn't believe it. They can't afford to. Our.... assault victim is too important to them. Hopefully...."  
  
"It's alright, Abe. He's on the isolation floor. Noone who didn't know this place intimately would ever suspect it even exists."  
  
"I remember. How was he this morning?"  
  
"Out cold last I knew. Peaceful and calm."  
  
"He won't be that way much longer. Perhaps we'd better...."  
  
"I've got a 'round the clock watch on him. We have time for a cup of herbal. C'mon." The abbot encouraged, leading the pair down a short flight of stone steps into a simple cozy, kitchen, warmed and lit by an enormous fireplace.   
  
"Wow! My dream kitchen. Look at that stone bread oven! Man, if I had this set-up I'd be baking and doing soups and stews every day, all day long." Broots enthused quietly.  
  
Surprised, Sydney questioned Broots as the other took a seat across from him at a long wooden table.  
  
"You cook?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Well, taking care of Debbie on my own, I had to learn. I took a few classes then went from there. I make a pretty decent cinnamon-swirl bread."  
  
"Yes? You'll have to bring some to the house. That's one of my favorites with my coffee in the morning, but I haven't found one made in the U.S. that I like." Sydney replied, smiling lightly as he accepted a stoneware mug of tea from the abbot and passed one to Broots.  
  
"You haven't really introduced me to your friend, Abe."  
  
"Goodness, you're right. Abbot Michael Fredrickson, Chris Broots."   
  
"Everybody just uses my last name." Broots added hastily, shaking Michael's hand then hiding behind his mug of tea.  
  
"Christopher?"  
  
No.... actually. It's short for Christian."  
  
"A name to be proud of, young man."  
  
"I guess so. I never thought about it. I've just been Broots for such a long time."  
  
"I've tried for years to get him to use his given name, but I've had no luck. I keep telling how much I like it..."  
  
"Well, I don't, so...."  
  
Broots lost his train of thought as one of the other monks came striding into the room, spoke quietly with Michael, then rushed out again.  
  
"Grab your tea, gentlemen. Time to go."  
  
"He's awake?"  
  
"Getting there."  
  
"Has he spoken?"  
  
"A few words."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Paulo didn't say, and I don't read minds. Relax, Abe. I know how important this is for you. When we get to isolation.... we'll see."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
To Sydney's frustration, Michael forbid either man to go near Lyle until the medical staff had been consulted. When he returned, he explained that, although he had received a real status report, the wait was also part of the illusion.  
  
"He's been told he's in a sort of isolation ward. I didn't want him thinking I'd just let you in without the approval of the doctors."  
  
"Can we see him now?"  
  
"Of course. Medically, he seems to be alright. He'll have a whopper of a headache."  
  
"Syd, wait. I just realized. Why am I here?" Broots asked.  
  
"Compassion. Hold his hand, make comforting noises, things like that. Besides, one man could never have gotten him into the building alone. Everything has to look just right." Sydney answered as he and Broots walked to the bed and watched Michael begin to try to get a response from Lyle.   
  
Broots, playing his part to the hilt, immediately knelt on the floor, grabbed a damp cloth from the bowl beside the bed and began stroking it over Lyle's brow and cheeks, clucking and trying to sound deeply sympathetic without using actual words.  
  
"Sir. Can you speak to me?"  
  
"Wh.... who are you? What's happened?"  
  
"Well. Good morning. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Fuzzy. My head's killing me."  
  
"That's about right. You have quite a scalp wound. It isn't serious, more superficial than anything, but it will take a while to heal and it's going to hurt like the devil while it does. Otherwise you seem to be fine."  
  
"Where am I? How did I.... end up here?"  
  
"You're in St. Marks Abbey. These two brothers found you laying in the alley just outside our doors. You were unconscious and bleeding badly."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"Three days. Almost four, actually. You were starting to worry us a little. Do you feel up to a few questions? Brother Abraham just had one or two."  
  
"I.... I suppose."  
  
"Hello. Welcome back to the world. What's the last thing you remember clearly before you were attacked?"  
  
His brow furrowed, eyes closed for several moments, Lyle pushed and dug in his mind but could find only blankness.  
  
"Nothing. There.... there's nothing there. I don't understand.... why can't I remember?"  
  
"You will. Try once more. How about your name?"  
  
"No. I mean.... I don't seem to...."  
  
"It's alright. Memory loss is common with head injury. It's only temporary, I'm sure. Unfortunately, Brother Christian and I found no identification among your clothing. We have to call you something unique. Hey over there has applied to everyone in the abbey at some point. I'd say.... yes. He looks like a James. What would you say Abbot?"  
  
"Hmmm. James suits him. How about it, son? Would James be alright for the time being?"  
  
"James? I.... it would be fine.... I guess. Yeah. James. I like it."  
  
"Good. We'll let you rest, now. Oh, by the way. Since your tests show you aren't ill, we'll move you out of isolation tomorrow."  
  
"Why the wait?"  
  
"The doctors want to be absolutely sure the head injury isn't worse than it seems. Trust me. Their caution has saved dozens of lives."  
  
Broots had abandoned the cloth and now had a gentle grasp on "James' " left hand, caressing and patting while continuing the meaningless sounds of solace.  
  
"Doesn't he speak?"  
  
"No, actually. He's been a mute most of his life. He's been so distraught since he and Brother Abraham found you. He kept signing to us that he felt if he'd been out there a few moments earlier, he might have prevented your injury. For his sake.... for all our sakes, I'm very glad you're alright."  
  
"No more than I am."  
  
"I'm sure that's true. Get some rest, James. I'll be back to see you after lunch."  
  
After tugging "Brother Christian" away from James' side, Michael walked Sydney and Broots back to the concealed elevator that had brought the three of them to the isolation level. Sydney and the abbot barely managed to conceal their laughter until the elevator doors closed.  
  
"That was wonderful, Chris! You were so convincing, *I* almost bought into it!" Michael crowed.  
  
Blushing heavily, Broots smiled, accepted the praise and began to work out how he was going to explain to Sydney about his plan to never sleep again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
FOUR HOURS LATER- SEACOUVER:  
  
"Hey. It's your wake-up call. Breakfast is here."  
  
"I'm up." Parker called from behind the screened-off facilities in the corner. "Put the tray on the bed."  
  
Methos, a wicked grin on his face, placed the tray then walked quietly to within a foot or two of the screens and spoke softly.  
  
"Your eggs Florentine are getting cold."  
  
Shocked to hear his voice so close by, when the feeling that signaled his approach was still so faint, Parker rushed out carrying one high heel and wearing the other.  
  
"What the...."  
  
"No alcohol, no sedative. The sensation has gone back to what it should be; a doorbell instead a combination car alarm and foghorn."  
  
"Doorbell.... The question I asked at the airport; would I get a straight answer now if I asked again?"  
  
"Not yet. Go eat. Cold spinach and eggs is rather disgusting."  
  
Taking his seat on the far side of the long table, Methos was pleasantly surprised when Parker retrieved the tray, brought it to the table and dropped into a chair across from him. Recognizing progress on her part when he saw it, he took the fortune that had fallen to him and let her eat without trying to pull her into a conversation.  
  
Even after she'd finished and pushed the tray down the table, Methos stayed silent, contemplatively sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee and watching her, willing to leave the decisions up to her. Finally, growing mildly frustrated, she made the first move.  
  
"You haven't said a damn word since you sat down."  
  
"Would you like me to?"  
  
"Anything's better than breakfast with Marcel Marceau."  
  
"Alright. What shall we talk about?"  
  
"You're asking me? This is your game."  
  
"It isn't, though. Games have no real purpose or meaning. Your being here does."  
  
"And I find out what that is...."  
  
"Tomorrow, maybe the day after. We'll see. Anything else on your mind?"  
  
"Again. Why ask me?"  
  
"Okay. I was wrong to think that a reasonably intelligent woman could produce a topic of conversation off the top of her head. Guess that leaves it up to me. What were you and my predecessor talking about last time he was here?"  
  
Her expression darkening and shutting down, Parker responded without hesitation.  
  
"Out of bounds."  
  
"Really? Mind telling me why?"  
  
"That would mean telling you what, and I said.... that's out of bounds."  
  
Unwilling to let Parker opt out, Methos waited several minutes, giving her every chance to rejoin him on her own, then gently began enticing her back into the delicate, deliberate waltz he was creating as he went along.  
  
"You did have an agreement with my partner. Right or wrong?"  
  
When no response came, he tried again. "Well? Did you or didn't you? I wouldn't want to hold you to something you never said yes or no to."  
  
"Yes. We had a.... bargain."  
  
"The jist of which was...."  
  
"Total honesty for total honesty."  
  
"Yeah? Okay. I'm willing to continue with that. You plan on keeping up your end?"  
  
"I don't renege on agreements."  
  
"Is that the only reason you're still with the Centre?"  
  
Met with more stony silence, Methos gave her a warm smile in return and continued. "Hmmm. We'll get back to that. So. What were the two of you discussing?"  
  
After a long, intense stretch of time spent staring deeply into Methos' eyes, Parker rose, walked to the bed, sat and swung her legs up, pulling her knees to her chest.   
  
"The jackass. I told him I don't have any solid memories before the age of seven or eight. He insisted I was wrong. He bet me he could find them, and like an idiot.... I called his bluff. He tried to make me think it was just some kind of.... visualization. I don't think I'll ever know exactly how, but at the end.... he tricked me.... turned it around on me. I was so confused I didn't know up from down, never mind fantasy from reality. I.... I was seeing.... I don't know what, really, but that.... that ass almost had me believing it had some connection to me, to my past."  
  
"You must have been furious."  
  
"Livid. Only Jarod's ever been able to get me that angry. Not anymore, but once...."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I wasn't thrilled with the results of that level of negative emotion on my health."  
  
"Uh-uh. Psychobabble. Say it how you really wanted to say it."  
  
"I don't like what happens when I get that mad."  
  
"Better. What is it that you don't like? What happens when you let your anger get that far beyond you?"  
  
"Nothing. It's.... it's really nothing. It hasn't happened in years."  
  
"Until yesterday."  
  
After a few tense, very quiet minutes, during which Methos could clearly see on her face the internal debate Parker was conducting with herself, she responded to his prompt.  
  
"When I get that.... wild, that enraged, I blank out. I just... go away somewhere, like slipping into a T.V. screen filled with snow. When.... when it's...."  
  
"When it's safe, you come back."  
  
The look Methos received held no agreement or dissent; merely cool appraisal and mild curiosity.  
  
"I still get angry. I've just learned to keep it under strict control. I haven't had a "white noise" episode in a long time."  
  
"Until yesterday." Methos repeated softly, his genuine concern and empathy drawing her further into the step and tempo of the dance.  
  
"I'm not so sure."  
  
"Yesterday was different? How?"  
  
"It used to be I'd remember the exact moment the static pulled me in. Yesterday.... the where and how got lost."  
  
"And that concerns you."  
  
"It concerns me that it happened at all. Like I said, I had this under control. If he's started it up again, I will personally hang his pretty Scottish guts from the chandelier in the dining room, turn the rest into mulch and spread him on the lawn."  
  
"Ugggh. He said you had a slasher movie imagination. Where'd you ever pick up that nasty thinking, anyway?"  
  
"It comes with the territory of being able to protect myself at all costs."  
  
"Well, can we make a pact?"  
  
"Possible."  
  
"You're as safe here as you can be. Noone can get to you, harm you or take anything from you. See if you can put away the twenty-four/seven/three-sixty-five defense system, okay? I'm not asking you to dismantle the thing, just shut it down for a while. Turn off the blood and gore dispenser and see how it feels to live without the bitterness and bile filling up your head all the time. You might find it the vacation you thought you were getting when you started this whole thing."  
  
"That easy, hmmm? Just.... shut it down." Parker laughed sarcastically.  
  
"Not easy, no. It can be done."  
  
"Fine. You do it, hypocrite."  
  
"Hypocrite? Where'd that come from?"  
  
"Do you really think I can't recognize one of my own kind? You've been fighting off the world for most of your life, just like I have, and you hate the world for it, just like I do. Show me your trusting nature, little man. Tell me what you are."  
  
"Oh, no. Most of the world I trust, sweetheart. You're a different story. I give up my hole-card now, you go hot-footing back to daddy with it, and I, and maybe a lot of my friends, will end up running from that human misery manufactuary you call a workplace for the rest of our lives. Sorry. Not yet. I don't fold as easy as all that. So do I show you how to release the security lock-outs or not?"  
  
"Great. A Star Trek fan. Just what I really need."  
  
"So must you be if you recognize the reference. Answer the question."  
  
"Go ahead and try, but if you do to me what he did...."  
  
"No tricks, I swear. You do have to close your eyes again, though."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Like I believe your promises any more than I'd believe his. Just remember that I can get close enough now to rip off your ears and stuff one down your throat and one up your...."  
  
"I get the point. Close the eyes."  
  
It took Parker several seconds to comply as her eyelids went to half-mast, then to slits that Methos swore were producing fiery sparks, all aimed in his direction. After a swallow or two to relieve the sudden dryness of his tongue and palate, Methos continued. "You're walking slowly down a dim hallway. A few feet in front of you, the door to a brightly lit room is opening. Focus on the doorway. As you get there, look up. There's a sign hung over the door. See if you can read it for me."  
  
"No chance. It's too high. Wait. I think.... Yeah. The same thing seems to be written on the glass panel in the door. It says Security Office: Head of Security.... there's no name. Other than the first two lines, the panel is blank."  
  
"Walk in. Tell me what you see."  
  
"The place is wall to wall with computers and monitors. Not much light. It's hard to see anything."   
  
"Take a good look around, find the most clearly marked button and tell me what it says."  
  
"There are two. Armed and.... secure? That makes no sense."  
  
"That's okay. It doesn't have to. Push one."  
  
"Which one, smart guy?"  
  
"No matter. Whichever you feel will shut the system down. Your choice."  
  
Stretching out her right hand, in her mind and in reality, Parker punched the switch marked secure, watched every light before her, except the room lights, go dark and had to fight a long moment of near panic. When she had resumed control, she spoke to Methos, realizing that he had given her no further instructions.  
  
"Well? Hello? I pushed it. Systems non-functional. What now?"  
  
After several seconds with no response, Parker opened her eyes to discover that her conversation-mate had slipped from the room during their final few exchanges, taking her used dishes with him and leaving her with nothing but a somber vision of mute, lifeless computers and video screens, and a rapidly increasing host of troubled thoughts flooding her heart and mind.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"I'm this close. A little farther and she won't be able to back out. She's studying the hook. She just can't decide if it's in her best interests to bite."  
  
"She knows the hook will drag her into a world she isn't ready for." Macleod responded quietly as he dried the last of the breakfast dishes and replaced them in their proper cabinets and drawers.  
  
"Yesterday still getting to you too?"  
  
"How could it not? I don't have the words for the way I feel, and that's not like me. It's strange. I don't like it."  
  
"The words for abuse that pervasive haven't been invented. I'm not sure he isn't right. He may never get rid of it completely. Is he still upstairs?"  
  
"Yeah. Whether he's sleeping or hiding is another story."  
  
"If it were me, I'd be in my shell for the duration."  
  
"Me too, but we aren't as strong as he is. Not by half."  
  
"If wishes were horses...."  
  
"and dropped from the sky, they'd be terribly messy, for horses can't fly." Jarod joked groggily as he shuffled slowly into the kitchen and dropped into a chair. "Sorry. It's a rhyme Parker taught me when we were children. She's about the only good memory out of the ones they left me."  
  
Moving to the table, Methos laid a hand on Jarod's shoulder briefly, then reached the same hand out to tip up the chin of the younger man.  
  
"I sense an apology on the tip of your tongue. Don't bother. You waited way too long for what happened last night, I think. Maybe now you'll believe you need as much help as she does. Help of a little different kind, but needed just as badly."  
  
Gently pulling away from the touch of his friend, Jarod scrubbed his eyes quickly, sighed and gazed up at Methos.  
  
"The words were right. In some small way, they worked. I'm just not.... ready yet. Give it time. Let's finish this first. Parker is the priority now."  
  
Walking away, Methos' face grew worried and slightly discouraged.  
  
"I know. She's doing well. She's keeping to our schedule, even if she doesn't know it. After you down some of that swill Mac calls coffee, would you skim the tape of the session I just had with her? I could use an opinion on how close she really is to where she needs to be."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Hey. That happens to be the best the gourmet store had. It's top-grade Columbian." Macleod protested.  
  
"Yeah, well I was hoping for decent coffee, not world-class cocaine. Columbian doesn't mean a thing, despite what all their commercials say. I could have got better tasting stuff out of the oil pan in my car."  
  
"Columbian coffee is the best there is. You just have no taste."  
  
"Ha! How many times do I have to tell you, you have to go to Chile for acceptable beans and drinkable coffee."  
  
"Chile? You want chilly, I can stuff you in the freezer. Maybe it'll improve your disposition!"   
  
Though he badly wanted to burst out laughing, Jarod rose and stepped between the two, not wanting an argument over coffee to come to blows immortal style.  
  
"Guys. Okay, okay. Hold off. I'll make the coffee from now on. I know a few tricks."  
  
"Ohhhh no. Not in my machine...."  
  
"I could just put instant and a filter over a cup and pour hot water through it, but that wouldn't taste much better than yours." Jarod retorted calmly then paused to let the other two catch up.  
  
Macleod glared at Methos for a few more seconds, then the insult hit and both gave in to laughter, joined by Jarod a minute later.  
  
"Alright. You get a one day trial."  
  
"That should be all I need. You did save me some breakfast, right?"  
  
"Absolutely." Macleod answered, sliding a baking sheet out of the oven with Jarod's dish on it. "Four slices of French toast and a western omelet. Syrup and butter on the table. Milk and fresh squeezed juice in the fridge."  
  
"Thanks." Jarod said, hissing as he accepted the hot plate and hurrying to set it down on the table. "How is she?"  
  
"Surprisingly cooperative. I got a lot more info than I thought I might. She came out with some interesting stuff."  
  
"Good. Is it okay if I eat in there? The sooner I watch the tape, the sooner I can give you feedback, and...."  
  
"Of course. Go ahead."  
  
His expression sliding into mild concern, Methos waited until Jarod had settled in the living room with the monitor headset on before he spoke again to Macleod.  
  
"Should we let him get away with it?"  
  
"What? The avoidance thing? They're his emotions. If he chooses not to make a huge deal of last night, that's his prerogative."  
  
"Yeah, but, eventually, it's gonna be a T-Rex sized deal. All the anger and resentment will sneak up and cut his knees out from under him one of these days."  
  
"We just have to hope he trusts us enough to let us help him if it happens. It might not. He's got through so much...."  
  
"Stonehenge has survived for thousands of years, but there are still people who say that if you push in the right spot or kick out the right pebble, the whole thing'll go down like dominoes in about a minute and a half."   
  
"They say. Let him be for now. Last night was a step. He'll come to us when he's ready for the next, if he ever is." Macleod countered.   
  
Sipping a cup of coffee, he turned from watching Jarod to staring out the window over the sink, considering whether to ask the younger man what he found out there at night that gave him peace.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"So? Where is she?"  
  
"Closer than I thought she would be in this short amount of time. She added unsolicited detail to the beginning sim you gave her. I didn't do that until eight months after I started."  
  
"You were also a frightened child, and you knew what you were doing. She doesn't fall into either category. Maybe that's partly responsible for her slipping into the simulation so easily."  
  
"She's also a natural Pretender. It could just be her inborn skill kicking in." Jarod proposed as he began to scrub his plate and silverware.  
  
"True." Methos mused. "We're all still on the same page about tonight and tomorrow, right?"  
  
"I never said that. I said I understand the necessity of it and I won't interfere."  
  
"I wish you could see.... I'm doing this to save her. At this point it's to save Mac and myself as well. She's sniffing around the truth of what we are, and she will track it down. That I guarantee. If we can't bring her around by then, the two of us, and maybe thousands of others, will be fighting your battle as well as our own."  
  
His soulful eyes locked to Methos', Jarod swallowed hard, his expression suddenly desolate.  
  
"The Centre can't be allowed to capture an adult immortal. I've seen sections of that place.... soul-killing doesn't come close. It doesn't even begin to cover it."  
  
"Okay then. This is our one chance to pull it off. We have to follow the plan exactly as we've laid it out. Missing a meal tonight and two tomorrow won't really hurt her, but it will get her hunger raging, which is essential for the immersion treatment."  
  
Jarod's quicksilver, ever-changeable expression now clearly said that part of him was as uncomfortable with the immersion as with the rest of the plan, but he kept silent about his concerns and marginally changed the subject.  
  
"When can I see her?"  
  
"Just before the treatment. All we'll be doing right up to then is interrogating her, trying to pull every bit of information out of her we can so she'll keep moving in the direction we want her to go. She'll be desperate for a friend. That's you."  
  
"Miss Parker and I may be a lot of things, but friends isn't one of them."  
  
"By the time day after tomorrow rolls around, she won't see it that way."  
  
A smile suddenly flowing onto Jarod's face, he turned to face Methos.  
  
"If I can give you a reasonable compromise that will keep the immersion on track, will you consider it?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Good. Let's all go hit the gym for a workout and we'll talk about it."  
  
General agreement came from the other two and all headed to separate bedrooms to change and grab towels.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	4. Chapter 4

Part 2/Chapter 4  
  
EARLY AFTERNOON- BLUE COVE:  
  
"Look. Don't push, Syd, okay? It won't make me have an appetite, so give it up."  
  
"You'll never sleep if you don't try and eat something."  
  
"Don't have an appetite for that either. You eat. You go hit the sheets. I'm gonna watch T.V. for a while." Broots replied, his voice flat and devoid of inflection or emotion as he rose from the kitchen table and moved slowly into the living room, Sydney following right behind.  
  
"What's going on? Are you feeling alright?"  
  
"I'm fine. I'm just not hungry or tired."  
  
Dropping beside his friend on the couch, Sydney tugged the television remote from his hand and turned Broots to face him instead of the entertainment center.  
  
"You're not being honest with me. We spent last night within ten feet of each other. I know how little you slept and I watched you not eat dinner or breakfast this morning. Talk to me. Tell me what's happening. We can work it out together."  
  
Rising, Broots began to pace in and out among the furniture, tracing weird patterns as he walked.  
  
"Forget it. Just leave it alone, alright? You already said you can't take this.... thing in my head away, so.... forget it. Go get some rest."  
  
"You believe it's my fault, don't you?"  
  
"Your.... No! I know it isn't. I'm mad at them. I want this to go away. Why can't it just evaporate the same way it showed up?" Broots snapped, finally returning to his seat on the sofa.  
  
"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, at least not this time. Whatever this ability is, or might become, it was induced by a chemical that lay dormant in your body for five years, and yet was still strong enough to activate when it came in contact with the contents of the injection. I'd wager this is something that will be with you for the rest of your life."  
  
"If I had the guts, the rest of my life wouldn't be all that long...." Broots moaned, his voice breaking as he leapt from the couch again. Ignoring his own physical pain, Sydney rose, reaching his friend within a step or two, and spinning Broots around.   
  
"Do you even understand what you're contemplating? Could you actually do that to your own daughter?"  
  
"You don't get it! I can't take this! I don't want it to happen again. I'm terrified to go to sleep. If I do doze a little, it's getting so I don't trust what I see when I open my eyes."  
  
"Come. Come sit down with me."  
  
Seated once again, Sydney gazed into Broots' face and struggled not to turn away, the plea for release he found in his friend's eyes nearly more than the older man could bear.  
  
"If there was something.... anything I could do, you know I would. The only option left is damage control. I can show how to begin to harness the visions, how to interpret them. Will you let me try? The sooner we start, the better."  
  
Slowly, his face seeming to collapse in on itself as reality sunk in, Broots leaned forward, near tears and trying desperately to hold them off. Hanging his head, he began to run his hands through his hair and over the back of his neck restlessly as he tried to wrap his mind around the ninety degree turn his life had taken without asking his permission.  
  
"How can I even start to figure anything out when I'm still hung up on why? That's what I really don't get. I've always done my job the best I knew how. I've always been loyal.... up until the past year or two, but there's no way they could know about the.... the things you and I and Miss Parker.... Any time I breached security it was justified.... in my mind anyway. Why would they do this to me?"  
  
"Remember, too, that you were given the drug before Jarod's escape even happened. I wish I had an answer for you. Perhaps they reasoned that a Centre employee was easier to put their hands on if something went wrong.... or right. Their.... loyalty would also make them less likely to resist whatever the research or med teams wanted to do to them."  
  
"I guess we kind of messed up their plan, huh?"  
  
"Yes. I think we may have. Now that Lyle is taken care of, my priority is protecting you. If anyone at the Centre were to discover that you've developed this ability, I don't even want to consider the lengths they'd go to in order to secure you away from the outside world."  
  
Lifting his head finally, Broots met Sydney's gaze, one or two of the tears he'd been trying to suppress now rolling down his cheeks.  
  
"Locked away from Debbie and you and....I'm never going back. You know that, don't you?"  
  
"You must. If you don't, they will absolutely know something's wrong. Raines already suspects...."  
  
"I can't. Not now, not knowing what they really did to me. It would show every time I looked anybody in the eyes. I won't go back in that infirmary, Syd. Before I let them at me again I really will do it. I'll die before....  
  
"You won't have to go back. I swear it. I'll think of some way to protect you...."  
  
At a signal from the security system, Sydney momentarily gave up on trying to calm Broots and moved to the intercom, though he vowed that the break in their discussion would be as short as he could make it.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Abe? It's Terri."  
  
"I'm sorry, Terri. This isn't a good time. We're both fine. It might be better if...."  
  
"Look. Let me in. Please? I.... I don't feel real safe out here just now."  
  
Confused, Sydney hesitated, then released the lock on the back door and let her in.  
  
When she burst through the kitchen door and nearly flew to his side, her expression turned his concern over her uncharacteristic behavior into genuine fear for her well being.  
  
"What is it? You look so pani.... My God. Who did this to you?" he exclaimed quietly, at last noticing the prominent redness and swelling on her neck and the backs of her hands.  
  
"I don't know, but when I find them, I swear they won't be conscious long enough to even think of doing it again."  
  
Leading her to the couch, Sydney turned to ask Broots to retrieve the first-aid kit only to discover his friend had slipped from the room.  
  
"Please stay right there. I'll only be a moment."  
  
After a few frantic moments, Sydney found Broots in the bedroom and dragged him back to where Terri waited. "I need you in my sight for the time being. I won't let you be alone right now." Sydney reassured him, leaving again and returning a few seconds later with the emergency kit. "Tell me what happened, Terri."  
  
"When I was opening up my office this morning, I got grabbed from behind. Before I could do anything, someone stuck a live wire to the back of my neck and my knees turned into marshmallow fluff."  
  
Lifting up the simple braid into which she'd plaited her hair that morning, Sydney discovered two small, well-separated, red areas at the base of Terri's neck.  
  
"Stun-gun. Go on." he encouraged, beginning to treat her burns.  
  
"I was only fuzzy for a minute, but I guess it was enough for these three Nazis to drag me to their limo and throw me in. They kept asking me how I knew you. I didn't say anything. I think I was still knocked half loopy from the attack. When the driver p-pulled the.... the cigarette lighter.... all I could think was.... great, two goons are practically sitting on me, and now he's gonna stink up the car.... but it.... it wasn't a lighter.... it put out so much heat.... all they had to do was get it close to my face and I started screaming...."  
  
Anguished and ashamed at having been the cause of yet another person's pain, Sydney pulled Terri's head to his shoulder, trying to dry her tears and comfort her, but she would have none of it and resisted his attempt at consolation. "No. I can wipe my own face, Abe. What I want from you is answers, and I want them now. What have you dragged me into?"  
  
"Terri. I can't, in good conscience...."  
  
"Uh-uh. I can't let it slide this time, Abe. They came after me. I'm a part of this now. I need to know."  
  
"Your life is worth more to me than an explanation that would only cause you further pain and upset...."  
  
"Forget it. I trust you, Abe, but I've waited a long time already. Now I'm caught in the middle of something I don't understand, and that scares me. It's my life to defend, and I don't need your good conscience. I need to know what I'm facing so I can fight back."  
  
Staring into Terri's eyes, part of Sydney's heart sank as he realized her determination not to surrender to the Centre's intimidation, even at the cost of being hurt far worse than she already had been.  
  
"I'll make you a version of the promise I made Broots. You'll hear all I can tell you and be sure that you'll stay safe. I just can't do it right now. There's so much still to do before Broots and I are safe and free.... for a while at least...."  
  
Fatigue glazing his eyes and forcing them closed for a few brief moments, Sydney sighed heavily, then pushed most of his weariness aside, gathered his thoughts and re-focused on Terri.  
  
Her own pain and fear subsiding, Terri finally saw how drawn and pale Sydney looked and how hard he was working to hold himself together. Kicking herself for allowing a minor incident, one that had never genuinely threatened her life, to blind her to a friend's suffering, her expression softened.  
  
"What do you need help with?"  
  
"Help?"  
  
"Yeah. Help. Your fight, my fight. I'm assuming you could use another lieutenant for the duration of the war. Am I wrong?"   
  
"No. No, you aren't wrong."  
  
"Okay. I'm here as long as you need me, then. Answers will keep. You go get some rest. Petey and I will be fine out here."  
  
"But...."  
  
"Get gone, Abe. You're wrung out and that shoulder won't heal if you don't sleep. Petey will tell me what he wants to and we'll go from there."  
  
For several more confused and doubtful moments, Sydney remained where he was, seated between his friends, gazing back and forth from Broots, who had crumpled himself as deeply as he could into a corner of the sofa, to Terri who stared fixedly at Broots, suddenly seeming to see Sydney as nothing more than an obstruction. When his companion voice spoke up briefly, he finally rose and walked back to the bedroom, still uncertain what was about to happen, but a little less worried that it would be disastrous if he weren't there.  
  
Go. He'll be alright with her. She may be just the one he needs right now....   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"You understand your orders?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And you're prepared to carry them out?"  
  
"I am, sir."  
  
"Excellent. Go. If you fail me, I wouldn't advise returning.... or letting me find you."  
  
"Clearly understood, sir."  
  
His mouth abruptly lurching into what passed for a smile on his horror of a face, Raines watched his hand-picked military underling make an exquisitely precise turn and stride from the room, then twisted in his seat and spoke to the deeply unhappy man behind him.  
  
"He's the best. He'll fulfill his orders.... whatever it takes."  
  
"It won't work. Best or worst, noone will find either of them now. Not even him."  
  
"Are you implying I don't know my own protégé?"  
  
"No." Parker stated firmly, rising from his chair, "I believe I'm implying that my children won't be returning to the Centre. Therefore, plans need to be made, contingencies executed.... yes. Things need to get done."  
  
"Mister Parker...."  
  
"Your man will fail, Raines. There's nothing he can do that I and a hundred other men couldn't. Thank you, though for the effort."  
  
Without even a glance behind him, Mister Parker strode away from Raines and out of the room. The confusion and lethargy that he'd shaken off after injuring his hands reclaimed him suddenly in the corridor, but for a moment only. Recovering himself, he walked on, his mildly disturbed expression the only sign that anything had occurred at all.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
SEACOUVER:  
  
"Hello. Lunch is served. Oh. There you are."  
  
Looking up from the spot in the center of the floor where she sat meditating in lotus position, Parker gave her inquisitor a cursory glance then returned to her contemplations. "Let me guess. You weren't exactly thrilled with the results of this morning's exercise. It's okay. I didn't expect you to be jumping for joy. You want lunch now or not?" he repeated, waving a covered container of dark brown liquid in her direction.  
  
Gazing at him once again, Parker rose with a litheness that Methos envied, circled him once slowly, as if he might have hidden the meal he'd promised, made a thoroughly inappropriate comment about the cup he held and walked away to drop into one of the chairs at the large table.  
  
"Ugh, and may I also add, blech! If you don't want the shake, say so, but that really was above and beyond the call of insults. I may never be able to look at a cappuccino again."  
  
"Get out."  
  
"Can I assume you don't want lunch, then?"  
  
"Lunch! That? I think I already expressed my opinion."  
  
"Yes, this is lunch; and dinner and breakfast for that matter. You're on a cleansing fast as of this moment. For the next forty-eight hours you get no solid food, no dairy, no sugar and no salt. Pure water, fruit juices and soy only. Oh, and the vitamins. Here." he said, tossing her a small bottle, which she caught with one hand and launched back at his head. He pulled it from the air as deftly as she had, walked to her side and held it out until she surrendered and took it from his hand.  
  
Dropping into the chair beside her, he began to speak, knowing the caring and compassion behind the words would find their way in no matter how hard she tried to block them.  
  
"I know you understand what the liquor and the cigs are doing to you. Understanding's easy. Now you have to start caring. If you don't let all this.... stuff go, you'll never heal emotionally, and that will keep you from healing physically. Right now, I know you don't give a tinker's damn about your mind or your body, but I guarantee the time will come when you do. When will you start believing you deserve to feel decent; to be strong and healthy and whole?"  
  
"If I didn't care, I wouldn't take the pills at all...."  
  
"You take it out of habit and because you know how bad you'll hurt if you don't. Do you really think noone's noticed what you've started taking them with by the way? Whiskey and a 'scrip? Lethal habits you're developing, love."  
  
"I did it once...."  
  
"That could have been plenty. You keep on this way and pretty soon whatever you're taking won't be strong enough to kill all the pain. You'll convince the doc to give you something bigger; something to really put out the fire. You'll chase it with a double shot one day, not even thinking.... and it'll put you out instead. Do you really want to be an eggplant; lying in a bed with just enough gray matter left to understand everything going around you, but not enough to speak or even open your eyes?"  
  
Parker suddenly rose and began to wander aimlessly, as if unaware that Methos was even still in the room, finally ending up by the rear wall. Bracing against it, she slid down into a crouch, eyes on the floor, hands rubbing together absently.  
  
"You have to take me back in there. I tried and I can't do it alone."  
  
"Back where?" Methos demurred, stalling for time, even though he knew exactly what subject they had abruptly jumped to.  
  
"Back into that room. I want it back on."  
  
"The security system?"  
  
"No. The neon "I'm an imbecile" sign on your forehead. What do you think?"  
  
"I think I want to know what you did at the Centre before Jarod escaped. You weren't always a bounty hunter, right?"  
  
"You did hear what I said.... right?" Parker spat back at Methos.  
  
"I heard. You know I can't do that. Now, come sit down and let's discuss your duties before finding Jarod and drinking yourself into oblivion became your life's ambitions."  
  
Rising to her full height, Parker advanced a step back toward Methos.  
  
"You can. You showed me how to turn it off, you can reverse the process."  
  
"I can't, and I wouldn't even if I could. Come have your shake, love, before it gets warm. Soy shakes are really disgusting warm...."  
  
"You hear about as well as your partner. Do it now or I'll...."  
  
Finally deciding the situation called for something a little more drastic, Methos rose and advanced across the room until he and Parker were close enough to be dancing. He waited for her to get uncomfortable enough to back off, then repeated the move, backing her into the wall again, hands propped on the masonry on either side of her head.  
  
"What? What will you do? I didn't shut the system down, sweetie. You did. If you can't go back and change it, then you aren't supposed to. That's why your mind's road-blocking you every time you try. You keep showing me all this anger, but you don't even believe it yourself! You put it out there for the world to see and genuflect to, but it isn't even half real, and you know it.  
It's a stone wall you use to hide the fear and the desperation and the ripped up heart of a little girl who watched her world vanish in one second of brutal, callous violence and who hasn't even begun to figure out how to find it again. You've taken all your pain and disappointment and genuine rage and shoved them behind that wall for over twenty years, and now you're seeing it being pulled apart, brick by brick, faster than you can fit them back in.   
The famous Parker self-control is deserting you isn't it? Suddenly you have to try.... really put forth an effort to maintain that mask of disdain and who gives a flying fart in a high wind what anyone else thinks. Gets pretty tiring holding a mask in place, doesn't it? The biceps and the forearms start to twitch.... then they start to tremble with the strain. Eventually you have to put it down whether you want to or not."   
  
Dropping his hands, Methos stepped back a bit, finished his spur-of-the-moment truth tirade then walked away. "Twenty-odd years is one hell of a feat of endurance, love, but I'd say you've about run dry. That wall's coming down and your facade with it. I just pray to God you don't get crushed under one or the other.... or both."  
  
Once back in his usual chair on the far side of the long table, Methos jotted in a notebook he'd brought with him to the session and pointedly ignored Parker, who hadn't stirred from where he'd left her except to watch his progress back to his seat.  
  
Her face frozen in an expression of disbelief and bewilderment, she simply stood on the wall, waiting for the anger to rise in her to a point where she could beat her tormentor to death or tear him apart and not feel or remember it, as she'd done once or twice before.   
  
Though the stories had swirled around her for days after both incidents, she'd blocked them out as efficiently and ruthlessly as she'd blocked the memory of whom she'd killed and why.  
  
When the emotion she wanted wouldn't surface at her command she tried to force it into being, pulling all her most potent rage triggers one after the other; the gullibility with which she'd fallen into Jarod's most humiliating traps, his ability to elude her no matter how close she thought she'd gotten, her father's emotionless reactions despite how much of herself she always put on the line to try and please or satisfy him.  
  
Even her last resort, recalling visions of her mother's death, failed to act as the release Parker needed, sending her into a crying, screaming fit of frustration, pounding the wall hard enough to have created several holes had it been made of anything less than concrete, and scratching her own face and hands when she couldn't damage the wall.  
  
When her cries alerted him to the situation, Methos ran up behind her, grabbing and securing her hands, then embraced her, crossing her arms around herself and effectively thwarting her self-destruction campaign. Holding her this way, he bent his knees and lowered himself to the floor despite how hard she continued to fight the loss of her freedom of movement. Speaking just loud enough to be heard over Parker's non-verbal expressions of terminal frustration, Methos began to try to soothe her out of the fugue state and back to reality.  
  
"You're alright. You're alright, girl. Mother of mercy, you're strong.... Stop it, love. Hurt me if you need to, but I won't let you hurt yourself. Not.... an.... option."  
  
As Parker's struggle intensified, Methos began rocking her back and forth as best he could, still hoping to calm her and bring her back down with reason and quiet words. "Shhh. C'mon sweet. This can't be doing that lake of eternal fire in your belly any good. You have to listen to me."  
  
Minutes later, instead of the slow surrender and relaxation he'd been hoping for, Parker went abruptly limp in his arms.  
  
"Oh, no. Not what's supposed to happen, dear. Let's see...."  
  
Turning Parker around to face him, Methos panicked at first, as her eyes were shut tight and her breathing frighteningly shallow. What he found when she opened her eyes was, all at once, the exact thing he'd been privately hoping for and, potentially, everything they all feared most. The gaze that met his was so filled with confusion, loss and heart-rending sorrow that he fought the urge to look away. Gently restoring her disheveled hair to some semblance of order, he smiled at her grimly.  
  
{Damn. I wondered whether I could trigger a regression. I guess I can. God, I'm sorry love. I didn't mean.... I wasn't trying for this. I just wanted you to face a few truths.... At least I know now that the immersion has a chance of working. Well. I suppose I'd better see if I can get you out of this as well as I was able to put you in it.}  
  
"Hello, sweetheart. Can you tell me your name?"  
  
A shake of the head and sudden fear in her eyes was the only response he received. "No, hmm. Shall I guess? Let's see. You look like a.... Molly."  
  
When Parker began to slowly relax and ceased pulling away from him, Methos drew a deep shuddery breath of relief, let it go again, and continued. "Can you speak to me at all, hmmm?"  
  
When it became obvious she couldn't, or wouldn't, speak, Methos reassured her once again of her safety, then rose, lifting her in his arms, amazed at how little she actually weighed compared to the suit of armor over a dozen bullet proof vests image she projected. Halfway to the bed where he intended to set her down, she realized his intended goal. Eyes widening, she began to fight him, flailing, kicking and whimpering in abject fear. Her struggle lasted only a few moments before she was unconscious in his grip a second time, her face rapidly paling. Placing her gently on the cot, Methos pulled a small handy-talkie from his pocket and activated the page feature, hoping one of the other two had theirs on.  
  
"I'm here. What is it?"  
  
"Jarod. I need the black leather bag under the sink in my room, a bowl of cool water and a cloth. Cool, not cold mind you. In the cell and make it a rush job alright?"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"When you get here. Just do what I asked, son."  
  
Several minutes later, Jarod appeared at the door. Methos took the satchel and bowl from him and turned back to tend to Parker.  
  
"You're welcome in as long as you keep your voice down and vanish as soon as she shows signs of coming to. The plan calls for you two to get together, just not yet."  
  
"What have you done?" Jarod asked, the implicit threat in his tone telling Methos just what would meet anything less than the truth.  
  
"She fainted, but she seems to be fine. I just need to make absolutely sure."  
  
When Parker began to stir a moment later, Methos began to try to encourage Jarod out of the room, but the younger man would not be moved. "Look. I told you the truth. Go. I'll take care of her, I swear it."  
  
Jarod stood gazing into his eyes for so long that Methos was sure he'd intended to stay no matter what, but he eventually turned and walked back down the hall.   
  
On his knees at Parker's side, Methos snapped open the satchel, removed a blood-pressure cuff and wrapped it around her right arm.  
  
"Just be still for a minute, love. You're okay." he soothed, wringing out the wet cloth then laying it across her forehead. "I'm just going to check you out, alright? Take it easy."  
  
When her blood pressure marginally met his approval, he removed the cuff, stored it again and slid the bag under the long table.  
  
"What happened? How did I get here?"  
  
"Shhh. Rest, now. You passed out."  
  
"And, what, I levitated to the cot?"  
  
"Stop. No more questions. No more fighting. You're to stay in bed for the rest of today and you're to stay quiet."  
  
"Fighting.... Hell with you. I demand to know...."  
  
Grasping her chin firmly, he brought her gaze to his.  
  
"Look at me. Look right in my eyes. With a B.P. of 110 over 65, you're in no shape to demand anything. You know better than anyone how close that puts you to having a needle in your arm and a plastic bag hanging over your head for the next two or three hours. A couple points lower on either number and that's exactly what you would have woken up to. Are we clear?"  
  
He waited for her slow nod before releasing her chin and rising to his feet. Moving to where her handbag sat, he pulled her medicine from the outer pocket, selecting one out of the four or five small bottles. Stepping to the table to grab the shake he returned to her side with both items.  
  
"Here." he said, handing her the pills while he pried the top off the drink container. Once she'd extracted a dose, he traded her for the drink, brushing off the look of utter disgust he received.  
  
"It's soy. And chocolate."  
  
"It's that or water. Trust me. This is better."  
  
Once she'd downed the pills, she paused, glanced from him to the drink, then drained the glass and laid back. He replaced the cool, damp cloth on her head. She pulled it off again. He relented.  
  
"I repeat. You're to stay in bed and you're to try and stay as calm and quiet as possible. If you need your meds, I'll be checking in every couple hours to be sure you're alright."  
  
Moving back to a seat at the table, he slid a book out of his back pocket and began to read.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Sitting here till you fall asleep. What does it look like?"  
  
Bewildered by his answer, Parker found herself unable to think of a response, until her eye fell on the empty glass on her night table. Grinning, she hefted one of her pillows then hurled it with deadly accuracy into Methos' face.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Strawberry next time."  
  
Laying his book face down, he walked to her side, fluffed the pillow and slipped it under her head.  
  
"Glad to oblige."  
  
As he took up his reading again, he stole a brief glance at Parker and was pleased to note she had retrieved the cloth, tossed it over her eyes and was breathing slowly and regularly, though he was certain she wasn't yet asleep. He rose and left only when she was.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	5. Chapter 5

Part 2/Chapter 5  
  
Striding into the living room, Methos searched quickly for Jarod but didn't see him in the immediate area.  
  
"He's not here or in the kitchen either. He's in his room listening to the stereo." Macleod informed him. "I wouldn't expect to see him tonight and maybe not tomorrow. He's not talking to either of us. According to him you're pushing her too hard and I'm just standing back and letting you do it."  
  
"Noone understands genius in its time. Maybe the music will calm him down."  
  
Macleod smirked.   
  
"You didn't see what he pulled out of his travel gear for CD's."  
  
"Do I dare ask?"  
  
"No. The covers I caught sight of were Korn, Metallica and.... what's that other hardcore mess.... Soggy Bagel?"  
  
"Limp Bizkit. Dear God. He wants to smash us both."  
  
"He's just blowing off steam. He'll cool down."  
  
"We devoutly pray. He's so strong, Mac. He could do us a serious bit of mischief."  
  
"He won't. He knows you're doing your best in a near impossible situation."  
  
"Did you watch the session?"  
  
"Beginning to end. So did he. That's why...."  
  
"I thought as much."  
  
"She regressed again."  
  
"Only for a minute."  
  
"Minute's too long. What was all that when you went to lay her down on the bed?"   
  
"I don't want to know. Not yet anyway. One deep emotional scar at a time, alright? There wouldn't be the makings of a sandwich left in the fridge, would there?" Methos inquired, heading for the kitchen to check.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
BLUE COVE:  
  
"Terri?"  
  
"Shhh. He just fell asleep."  
  
Rising gingerly from the sofa, Terri walked to meet Sydney as he emerged from the hallway and guided him into the kitchen.  
  
"What did he tell you?"  
  
"Enough. He said he's been having some first class nightmares. We talked about the worst ones, pulled 'em into daylight, you know? He felt a little better. What he needs are dream control techniques. Unfortunately I didn't have any to give him. Not my area."  
  
"That crossed my mind. It wouldn't work. Dream control works on the sub-conscious level. Broots'.... nightmares aren't derived there. "  
  
"You're talking about hallucinations then?"  
  
"Not exactly. As long as he's doing better, I'm satisfied. For now, let it go. Did he eat?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Soup, crackers and half a sandwich.  
  
"Good. Very good."  
  
"You're looking better for whatever sleep you got."  
  
"I'm in less pain, now. Is your neck better?"  
  
"My neck will heal. Do you ever think about yourself for more than two seconds at a stretch, Abe?"  
  
"I try not to. Selfishness is a trait I can't afford to reacquire. I.... hurt too many people when I was young."  
  
"Young or old, you'd never intentionally hurt anyone. I think I know you well enough to know that." Terri commented as she brought toast and a bowl of soup to the table.  
  
"You didn't know me then. You wouldn't have liked me very much, I'm afraid. I thought science was everything. It was my religion. I didn't realize it was Satan's throne I was worshiping at. All those wasted years.... I willingly put my soul into his hands. I only pray I can retrieve it."  
  
"Okay. Enough of that. Stop knocking yourself long enough to eat, will you? Whatever happens you'll need to be at full strength to deal with it and right now your mixture's so lean you can't see straight."  
  
"I'll be alright once this business is finished. A few more days...."  
  
"It better not be that long. As it is you're looking at weeks of physical therapy to rehab that shoulder."  
  
"If I have to endure it, I will. There are other much more pressing concerns right now and until those are resolved...."  
  
"Hey. Don't you listen? You've got someone to help shoulder some of that weight now. I'm here for you and Petey until this.... whatever it is, is over and done."  
  
"You do understand I'll never be able to tell you everything."  
  
"Yeah. You should tell somebody though. It screws up your system to keep things inside all the time."  
  
"I talk to Jacob."  
  
"I mean someone who can respond, give you feedback."  
  
"I know what you meant. I can't do that to my friends. I won't put them at risk." Sydney replied with finality. "No more, alright? No more questions. I need to focus on what I'm doing or none of us on either side will survive the next few days."  
  
Looking up from his food, Sydney could clearly see Terri wanting to ask what he meant by "either side" but choosing to honor his request.  
  
"What can I do to help?"  
  
"Stay with Broots while I go and get some things done."  
  
"You're going back to work? Bad idea, Abe. Really bad idea. The way Petey described the place it sounded more like a Russian gulag than a research facility. Can't you do what needs doing without going back there?"  
  
"What did Broots tell you?"  
  
"Only that he's hated the place for years and he wants nothing more to do with it He didn't have to tell me he's terrified. I could see it in his eyes, his movements. Whether it's the work or something else.... I don't know. He wouldn't go that far."  
  
"We both have legitimate reasons for being frightened, Terri. Reasons you can't know and shouldn't have to. I'll let you help, but only to a certain point. I won't drag you any further in than you already are."  
  
Pulling down one edge of the bandage on her neck, Terri stared Sydney in the eyes, her mouth set in a thin line of determination.  
  
"I'd say that decision's been taken out of your hands, wouldn't you?"  
  
Sydney started a response, but closed his mouth on it, knowing all he had to offer Terri were more evasions and carefully worded phrases meant to stall her one more time. Reaching out, he gently replaced the bandage, pausing for the briefest of moments to brush her cheek as he retreated.   
  
"Is there anymore soup?"  
  
Knowing all she could do for him was what he'd asked of her earlier, Terri gazed at him sadly then relented.  
  
"Only a ton and a half. You'll be eating it for the next year or so if I freeze some."  
  
"I'll be glad to. It's really very good."  
  
"Well, thank you, kind sir. I may not be Cordon Bleu, but there are one or two things that I do pretty well."  
  
"Being a good friend seems to be your real talent. How did you get Broots to talk? He's usually more.... circumspect with strangers, especially lately."  
  
"I don't know exactly. We just seemed to trust each other right off the bat. I like him, Abe. He's funny, really smart and he's so sweet."  
  
"Yes. He is all that."  
  
"I wish I could have done more than just feed him and offer up my ear and my shoulder. "  
  
"Emotional support is worth more to both of us right now than you could ever guess, Terri. We're terribly grateful." Sydney told her as she set his second serving in front of him and reclaimed her chair.  
  
"Abe...."  
  
"No. Please, right now just accept what I can tell you, alright? It.... it's all I can do."  
  
After showing her the best smile he could manage, Sydney returned his gaze to his meal.   
  
When he'd finished, though she tried again to get him to stay, he slipped into his coat and left for the Centre, hoping against what he knew were very long odds that he'd get out again without being caught.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Sydney. Quite a surprise to see you. You're looking much better."  
  
"Approaching it, sir." Sydney responded, desperate to be anywhere but in Mister Parker's presence.   
  
"Back to work are we?"  
  
"Only for a short while, sir. I should be back on full duty tomorrow."  
  
"And Broots? How is he?"  
  
"Not well sir. His injury may take another week or ten days before he's even able to be up and around. Dr. Raines mentioned the damage to your hands, sir. How is it?"  
  
"Flesh heals." he intoned, moving away a step or two before speaking again. "Oh, Sydney."  
  
"Yes. sir."  
  
"If I find out you had even the smallest part in the disappearance of either of my children, I'll carve a piece off your body for every day you've made me wait for the truth."  
  
Watching the other man walk away, a large, very frightened, part of Sydney understood that the threat was by no means idle, while his companion voice kept insisting that Broots had to be protected at all costs.  
  
Moving into his office, he closed and locked the door before taking a seat at Broots' computer terminal. Pulling a folded piece of magician's flash paper from his pocket, he reviewed one of many copies of instructions his friend had given him months earlier and began to rapidly enter several long alpha-numeric sequences into the system. When the screen he was waiting for appeared, he brought up the Centre e-mail program and initiated the process that would get him through to the contact who sent his messages to Jarod.  
  
As he typed, he prayed silently for the safety of all those he cared for, adding a post-script about the Centre never finding out how many of their security measures Broots intimately knew how to subvert, shut down or tunnel under. Finishing, he backed carefully out, leaving no trace of what he'd done, grabbed the flash paper lying by the corner of the keyboard and moved to his desk. Pulling a small glass from a drawer, he dropped the paper in and added a match. When the glass was clean he replaced it and the matches, slipped two more small items into his pocket and headed out for a distant part of the building to complete his final tasks of the day.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Hey. Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to eat."  
  
Producing a jaw-breaking yawn, Broots gingerly pushed to a sitting position and accepted the two pills Terri handed him. "Buffered aspirin. Abe said you might be needing them about now. Here." she said, offering a glass of ginger ale and placing a laden plate on the coffee table. "Dinner is grilled chicken and angelhair pasta. It's only a frozen dinner from the nuke-box, but I want to see every bit of it gone. You're skinnier than an anorexic toothpick. Eat, eat!"  
  
Throwing Terri a crisp salute and a smile, he found his silverware and dug in.  
  
"I'll tell you something. As much as I love havin' everybody cook for me and all, I can't wait to get home and do for myself again."  
  
"As long as you screen your calls, you should be fine." Terri chuckled, sipping from a tall flute of chilled white wine.  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"Well, won't work be calling wondering where you are?"  
  
Thinking her comment totally innocuous, Terri was confused when her words produced a look of utter panic and nausea on Broots' face, which quickly transmuted to anger.  
  
"They can't keep me out of my house! What gives them the right to.... it's not theirs! It's Debbie's and mine! "  
  
"Huh? What's wrong? What did I say?"  
  
"No, wait, wait. You're right. If I screen my messages and forward my mail and paper deliveries.... no. That's not enough. I can't cut off heat and lights and what'll we do for money? There's the savings account, but that won't last us three months....."  
  
Raising her voice, Terri broke into his train of thought and finally got his attention.  
  
"Hey! Over here! What are you saying? You're acting like a bunch of goons in black hoods and turtlenecks are going to come after you if you play hooky."  
  
"Black suits. No hoods. Well, for me maybe...."  
  
"What?! What is this research facility anyway; CIA? NSA?"  
  
"I can't tell you. They'd hurt you too, and I can't let that happen...."  
  
Furious, Terri jumped from the sofa, stalked a few steps away and then whirled back.  
  
"Holy Mary, Mother of God! I am not two years old! What could possibly be so ghastly that you and Abe both think I won't be able to handle it? Hmm? If this place is that bad then you're gonna have to tell someone, sometime. It might as well be me, and it might as well be now."  
  
"You don't get it. I hope you never...."  
  
Broots words faded out mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back as he passed out, dropping bonelessly onto his right side.  
  
"Petey? Hey! Talk to me, Petey!"  
  
It took several minutes for Terri to restore Broots to consciousness. He sat up quickly, though he was still groggy.  
  
"Ginger ale. Quick, please."  
  
Passing him the drink, Terri examined him critically, assuring herself she didn't need to call for immediate medical assistance.  
  
"Are you okay, now?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm fine. I guess."  
  
"What just happened?"  
  
"Nothing. I'm good."  
  
"Fainting is not nothing. Don't try and play me here, Petey."  
  
"I'm not. It was .... you wouldn't understand."  
  
"Here we go again."  
  
"No. I mean I can't explain it. I didn't really tell you the truth about my nightmares. If I did.... Look. Just go reheat the food for me, would you? I'm totally starving." Broots asked, smoothly swinging into a new subject as a way of announcing he would no longer discuss his visions or his fainting spell.  
  
Terri complied with the request, vowing she'd have the truth one way or the other.   
  
When the food had warmed, she brought it back to him and watched to be sure he ate every ounce, trying, in vain, to draw him back to the topic she was interested in.  
  
"All the things Abe could have taught you, and he shows you his one sentence "I'm not talking about that" routine. Terrific."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Standing just inside the doors of the Centre infirmary, Sydney waited impatiently for the attendant he'd spoken with to return, battling his instinctive urge to search out the location of any camera emplacements in the room. Although tension pulsed through his temples with every heartbeat and tightened every muscle, he understood that looking as strained as he felt was the sure path to being caught, so he kept his eyes down and put on the best charade of calm he could.  
  
"The MRI is ready now, doctor. If you'll follow me?"  
  
"It's alright. I know where it is. I can get there and back."  
  
"But if that arm is as bad as you say it is, you'll need help."  
  
"I'm sure the operator can give me any assistance I need. Your concern is appreciated."  
  
"Sure. No problem. Doc, wait. That's your writing hand?"  
  
"Yes, actually."  
  
"I'll sign you in and out then."  
  
With a nod of thanks, Sydney strolled off toward the scanning rooms at the rear of the immense maze of chambers and corridors collectively called an infirmary, though this one was the size of the ground floors of many hospitals. Though he hated lying to the attendant, who would face severe repercussions if Sydney's ploy were uncovered, he'd been unable to think of any other way to get the information he needed; information that might save his best friend.  
  
Reaching a T-junction, he scanned the hallways with eyes and ears to be sure he was completely alone, then turned left instead of right, heading for a room, which, to his everlasting regret, he knew well. Getting Broots to describe the room in which he'd been held for those three awful days had been torture for both men, but Sydney had pushed him, knowing how important it was to know the location exactly.  
  
The room was one he'd sworn he never wanted to see again after the last scene he'd watched played out there. In general, it was used only for constraining and experimenting on convicted death row inmates, whom society no longer cared about and would not miss when the Centre's work resulted in their inevitable extinction. The memory of his fatigue-induced, and mildly rude, comment to Raines, and what he'd been made to witness by way of punishment, was still vivid and bright in his mind, as he feared it would always be.  
  
As he approached the room, he slipped a small steel-gray canister from his pocket, one of a supply he'd requisitioned when Jarod had first escaped. His hope had been to use the contents to render his protégé unconscious before he could run or Parker and the sweepers could harm him. For once, the bureaucracy of all large corporations, the Centre included, had worked in Sydney's favor. If anyone who'd ever known he'd received the grenades was still around, they'd long forgotten and he'd seen to it the relevant paperwork was deeply buried.  
  
Cradling the canister in his good left hand, he pressed the call button with the fingers of the injured right, listening carefully for movement within.   
  
When he heard someone approaching from the other side, he rested a thumb on the release catch and slipped his right arm from its sling. The moment the door opened enough for his purposes, he tossed the grenade and pulled the door closed again. Ignoring the pain, he stripped his jacket off and stuffed it at the bottom of the door to avoid any of the gas escaping and scattering his faculties when he needed them most. He waited the full five minutes it took for the grenade to empty, plus a little more, before pulling a flexible vapor barrier mask from his pocket, placing it over his nose and mouth and entering.   
  
Moving straight to the computer terminal in the center of the room he sat and punched in Raines' personal enquiry code (a piece of information which, if Raines even suspected he possessed it, would cost Sydney weeks of excruciating pain before he was allowed to die) and began to work backwards, searching for the records covering the period just after Broots' accident.  
  
When he found what he sought, the words on the screen froze his heart and stopped his breath for several seconds. Clicking on the print icon, he watched pages begin to emerge from the printer at a torturous pace while he silently urged them to appear faster, knowing now that Broots' life was in far greater danger than his sanity.  
  
Rejoicing when the pages stopped, he gathered them, backed out of the system and left the room, headed to the MRI room to actually get the scan and assess the damage to his shoulder.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Syd! You don't know how good it is to see you."  
  
"You too. Sit down. We have to talk."  
  
"You better believe it! Wait 'till you hear...." Broots warned him as they headed for the kitchen.  
  
"Later." Sydney replied wearily, dropping into a chair. "I found what we were looking for."  
  
"You don't look like it's good news."  
  
"No. I'm afraid it's all bad. The drug they gave you at the hospital is called Psychonodril-10. It's an extremely powerful psychotropic chemical cocktail. It was being developed for the Pretender project. Raines believed that if he could supplement their natural gifts with paranormal talents they would be even more valuable tools for the Triumvirate. The researchers discovered the fatal flaw just in time. None of the children had yet been given the drug."  
  
"Fatal? As in dead? As in no longer with us?"  
  
"No, no. That's just a scientific term. It indicates a problem with a theory or hypothesis that makes it useless. I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
"It's okay. So what was the fat.... I mean what was the problem?"  
  
"No drug is ever tested on human subjects, at the Centre or anywhere else, before they have an counter-agent prepared. This particular drug was first given to a convicted serial murderer, a brutal vicious thug. When they knew it had been successful, they administered the counter-agent and discovered their mistake. Separately, each chemical was relatively harmless, but brought together in the body they merged and became a virulent neuro-toxin that went straight through the blood-brain barrier as if it didn't exist and killed him instantly. The research teams tried for months but they never found anything safe that would also counteract the effects of the pyschotrope."  
  
"So. I could get rid of the visions.... if I'm willing to die a horrible, painful death. Otherwise...."  
  
"I'm afraid you're going to have to learn to live with it."  
  
"There better be another option, Syd. You haven't heard today's update yet. I was talking to Terri and right in the middle of a sentence, I passed out and had another vision. They're comin' when I'm wide awake, now! Please don't tell me nothing can be done."  
  
"What would you like to hear? I could lie if you think that will do any good."  
  
"Syd.... What am I supposed to do? " Broots pleaded. "I can't handle any more."  
  
"I know. I have a plan that will put you and Debbie far beyond the Centre's reach, if you're willing to hear it."  
  
"I'm grasping at invisible straws here, Syd. How can I afford not to?"  
  
"It won't be easy. It will mean being separated from Debbie for a week or two. Can you handle that?"  
  
"Separated. You said...."  
  
"I can get you both to safety, but you have to go first, otherwise the Tower will be suspicious."  
  
"Go where?"  
  
"That's the exciting part...."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


End file.
